


Home Sweet Home

by crazynadine



Series: The man in 8C [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bipolar Ian, Blood and Injury, Boys Kissing, Concerts, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mickey has issues, Neighbors, Oral Sex, Rimming, Stalking, Violence, accountant ian, awkward hetero lapdances, mickey has a pitbull, radio dj mickey, rock music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-04-21 09:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 84,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22060027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine
Summary: Mickey and Ian try and grow an actual relationship out of their steamy one night stand. Their efforts are complicated by Mickey's new co-workers, Ian's low self esteem, and Mickey's newest super fan...(title taken from the Motley Cru song)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: The man in 8C [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1059209
Comments: 137
Kudos: 326





	1. Girls, girls, girls....

**Author's Note:**

> I've been planning this for a long time, but haven't been able to write for months. If you know me, you know I've been going through some personal lows, but I think it's time to try and put that behind me and get back to what makes me happy. 
> 
> So here we are. Here's hoping this is worth the wait.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2XdmyBtCRQ Girls, girls, girls.... ;)

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Mickey groaned, rolling his high-backed chair across the floor of his studio to get in his producer's face. "Fitzy, you asshole.  Whose brilliant idea was this bullshit?" 

Mickey is pissed. Rightly so, if you ask him. He's been a successful radio DJ for years now. Number one in his timeslot in Chicago, syndicated all over the country. His podcasts always pull big numbers on Itunes and all that commercial bullshit. He's got a massive following on social media. Or at least that's what his PR team tells him.

He sure as shit doesn't spend any time on twitter. 

He's a one-man show and the darling of rock radio in America.

Leave it to his asshole producer to fuck all that up. 

Fitzy has been with Mickey since he started at WROX. He's the closest thing to a friend he has at work. But that doesn't mean he's not a dumbass.

Fitzy is standing there, glaring at him. Kid looks like an 80's hair band groupie had a baby with a hipster. Fucking skinny jeans and  an Ozzy t-shirt. Big black leather choker, like one of those collars in those S&M pornos Mickey certainly does not watch. Bracelets adorning both wrists, tattoos all over his arms and neck. Blue hair, pierced every-god damn thing. The librarian glasses and Doc Martin 'lesbian edition' boots really complete the look. 

Fitzy is a fucking character. Mickey likes him, even if the kid gets on his last god damn nerve. 

Like right now. 

"Listen, Mick. It's a good idea. Trust me, this is my job after all." Fitzy grinned, not at all put out by Mickey's attitude. After working with the prickly DJ for years, Michael Fitzgerald has learned how to deal with Mickey's more impassioned tirades. "The focus groups...."

"The focus groups can suck my dick." Mickey spat, crossing his arms over his chest. "I work alone." 

"Not anymore you don't." Fitzy grinned, shaking his head. "The higher ups wanna try this out, see if it has any impact on the numbers." 

"I don't want sidekicks or what the fuck ever you're talking about. I do just fine on my own." 

"Yeah, man. You really do. You're the best in the business, Mick. Everyone knows that." Fitzy replied, no longer smirking like an asshole. If he wanted to get through to his number one DJ, he was gonna have to stroke his ego a bit. " But Angela and Tobias wanna try this. You know how the suits roll, with their big ideas and grand plans. If it doesn't work out, you go back to your solo shit. It's just a test, to see if you do better in the ratings with a couple 'a costars." 

Mickey sighed, realizing he doesn't really have a leg to stand on in this argument. If Tobias, the owner of the station, and Angela, the god damn CFO, wanted it done, it was done. These are his bosses, after all. The people that sign his checks and renew his contract. "So, who are these assholes, and when do they start?" 

Fitzy smiled, releasing a relieved breath. You never can tell how Mad Dog is going to react to shit like this. Fitzy still recalls quite clearly the last time he gave Mickey unpleasant news. In fact, there is still a Milkovich fist-sized hole in the studio wall behind that Pearl Jam poster...

Better the wall than Fitzy's face. 

"I'm pretty sure you've heard of them both." Fitzy hedges, shrugging. "We, uh, we poached 'em both from 103.7"

"Rock Nation?" Mickey laughed, eyebrows high on his forehead. Rock Nation was WROX's main competition in the greater Chicago area. They were consistently second in the ratings, often surpassing WROX's afternoon and evening shows. 

But never beating Mad Dog in the Morning. 

So, Mickey supposes that if he has to get a gaggle of new asshole co-stars, Rock Nation is the place to poach them from. 

Not that he's happy about it. 

"Yeah. Rock Nation was the obvious choice, man. You know 'em. I know you do. Pratt Attack and Mistress Lexi." 

Mickey balked, finally sitting up at attention. "You got Kenny Pratt and Alexis Andrews? For my show?" 

Fitzy preened a little, adjusting his glasses to hide his pleased grin. "Indeed I did." 

Pratt Attack and Mistress Lexi were legends in Chicago radio. Mickey is not so  conceited to think he's the best out there. He's good. He makes good money. He has fans all over the country. 

But Kenny Pratt has been in radio since Motley  Cru was new on the scene. He's a god damn radio god, and Mickey feels a bit like a fan boy in the moment. Mickey would be a moron to fight  management on this. 

Alexis is another story, however. 

"Kenny I get." Mickey conceded, secretly excited to be working with a guy that's been around so long. "But Mistress Lexi? What the hell?" 

Alexis Andrews was the last person Mickey wanted on his show. She was loud and obnoxious. She got famous for her cocky, rude-ass attitude and giant tits, and isn't above using either of those things to further her career. 

She's also a low-key homophobe, and that just won't fly. 

"Lexi has a huge fan base." Fitzy replies, nervously running his fingers through his wavy brown hair. "And, uh, she tests out real well with the one demographic you're losing ground with." Fitzy fidgets when he's nervous, and right now Mickey's watching him tweak like a crackhead. Cracking his knuckles and running his hands along his neck and face. Rocking from foot to foot like he's got fire ants up his ass. 

Mickey is pretty much over this bullshit. "You mean the straight males, age 18-35? I thought we were holding strong with that demo?" Mickey has never had an issue keeping his listeners. 

This shit makes no sense. 

He's been an out gay man on-air for years now. 

"Well, the numbers just came out, and we saw a bit of a dip, and we are just trying to...." Fitzy didn't get to finish. Mickey was up and out of his chair before the man could utter another  syllable . 

"Bullshit, Fitzy. We hold those demographics every year." Mickey scoffed. "What coulda happened in the past two months to change that?" 

Fitzy didn't answer right away. Instead, he grabbed his tablet off the mixing table and started dicking around on it. Mickey was losing patience and fucking fast. He was about to just walk out when Fitzy thrust the tablet into his hands. "Read that." was all he said. 

Mickey rolled his eyes, but glanced down at the tablet. It was open to the Chicago Speaks twitter feed. 

Chicago Speaks is some dumb ass gossip column in the Daily Times Newspaper. Their twitter feed is always full of mundane celebrity gossip. The  kinda shit Mickey wouldn't read if you paid him. 

"Chicago Speaks? What the fuck do I care?" 

"Read it, Mick." 

Mickey growled, but finally started reading the article. 

** MAD DOG MICK SPOTTED AT LOCAL HOT SPOT WITH MYSTERY MAN. ROCK DJ INDEED DIGS BOYS. **

What the actual fuck? 

Under the headline was a picture of Mickey with Ian. Their second date, at a microbrewery Mandy had recommended. It was only ten days ago. The press vultures had missed their first date, at one of those adult arcade places. Mickey had had a blast, even won Ian a plushy octopus on  Ski Ball .

First date level: Master. 

Ian had agreed to a second date right away. And Mickey had been pretty damn pumped. 

But, truth be told no matter how much he liked the nerdy little ginger, Mickey was hoping to keep this shit with Ian on lock for a little while. At least as far as the public masses go. They were little more than strangers still. Sure, they had amazing sex that one time a few weeks ago, but after that Ian had kinda ghosted him. He'd gone to ground again, not unlike after the Treadmill Incident. 

Mickey was left to wonder if he'd done something wrong, or if it was just Ian being shy again. 

So Mickey had called him, and Ian had made excuses and apologies.  So they'd gone out. First to the arcade, then out for drinks. No more sexy time, but they'd had a lot of fun. Spent their time drinking and trading war stories about growing up poor and joking about their more  embarrassing hook up stories. Nothing too invasive, nothing too deep. Just how Mickey liked it. It was pretty perfect for a couple of dates with a guy you already fucked.

But...that was a week ago now, and Mickey has yet to hear from Ian. 

Ghosted. Again. And Mickey was getting fucking tired of it. 

Ian's also done his Houdini shit at the condo complex again. Kid can straight up disappear if so inclined. Mickey hasn't seen him in days. Even Cal hasn't seen hide or hair of the pretty accountant, and Cal's more reliable than the complex's security system. No one knows what's going on inside the Hawthorne Builder better than Cal Riley.

So, if Cal hasn't seen or heard from Ian, the man must really be dodging him. 

Mickey can't even begin to think of how Ian is going to handle this gossip column bullshit. The guy is skittish enough as it is, and this very public spotlight on their barely-there relationship very well may be the shit that ends things between Mickey and Ian for good. 

Mickey doesn't like that idea at all...

Mickey spends the rest of the meeting ignoring Fitzy's ramblings about his stupid new co-hosts. He honestly couldn't give less of a shit.

No, he's got more pressing matters. 

Like the sexy ginger fucker in 8E, and why he's once again, avoiding Mickey like a Ukrainian plague. 

***

Ian is a fucking idiot. 

He knows this. 

It's not like it's a new development or anything, but it still stings. 

He's sitting in his cubicle at work, staring at his phone. He should be finishing up the Martin report. It's due by the end of business today, but Ian can't seem to concentrate. 

He should just call him. 

He should have called him days ago. 

Ian was smitten. Unavoidably and irrevocably sprung on this dude.

Mickey was just... everything he'd ever wanted in a man. And not for the obvious reasons, either. Of course, it was a huge plus that Mickey was sexy as fuck. He was a beast in the sack, hit all Ian's hot buttons without even trying. He was also famous, and fucking loaded. 

Total package, as his sister would say. 

But none of those things were the reason Ian was so stuck on the guy. 

Mickey was so much more than his money or fame (or his dick, for that matter). He was funny, and so damn kind. Smart as hell. Could talk circles around Ian on an array of interesting and compelling topics. But he never talked down to Ian or made him feel less-than for not being able to keep up. (how much can one man really know about the 1970's New York punk scene?) 

He listened when Ian talked about his boring days at the office, and his family drama. He paid attention, asked questions. He was legitimately interested in Ian's life, dull as it is. 

He was interested in Ian. 

Not to mention they had so much in common. Growing up poor and gay in the worst neighborhood in the city. Absent mothers and shit bag fathers. Too many siblings and not enough food. Being told your whole life you'll never amount to anything, and proving all those assholes wrong. Making something of yourself out of nothing. 

They liked the same music, the same movies. Rooted for the same teams. Their Netflix cues were almost identical. 

It was actually kinda scary, how compatible they were. 

No, as a matter of fact, it was terrifying. 

This kind of thing doesn't happen to Ian. Dream guys don't just pop up at his front door and whip their dicks out. Said dream guys don't stick around after, just to talk. They don't take Ian out on dream dates. And they certainly don't come back for more. 

But that's what happened. 

After they hooked up, Ian had been flying high. Drunk off that post-orgasmic oxytocin and Mickey's close proximity, Ian had done the  unthinkable : asked Mickey out on a date. 

Something he'd never do under normal circumstances. 

Even more preposterous, Mickey had agreed. They'd gone out on two dates in the past month, and Ian had a fucking blast. He's never felt an instant connection with another person like this. 

The fact that Mickey happens to be Ian's celebrity crush just adds to the surrealism of the whole scenario. 

Ian's a shy guy, doesn't like to put himself out there all that much, and with good reason. 

He's fucked up. Like, really fucked up. He's got in under control these days, for the most part, but his disorder still has flair ups. Little slips he can't predict. It's the threat of those flair ups that keep him from pursuing men like Mickey. 

And that's exactly what happened this week. 

Ian had been doing good for months now. No real mood swings to speak of. He was getting enough rest, taking his meds, exercising , and seeing Lynn, his therapist. He was doing everything right. 

And yet, he still founds himself wide awake at 4:30 am last Thursday. Unable to sleep, bouncing off the walls. Knowing full well he had to be up for work in less than two hours, Ian had spent the entire night on his laptop, ordering comic books off Comixology.com. Four hundred dollars later, Ian broke out of his fugue state to the devastating conclusion that it may be time to get his meds tweaked.

And that never gets any easier. He'd closed his laptop and taken a look around his apartment. His gorgeous, well-appointed apartment. The place had been in disarray. All his notebooks were out, pages torn free, scattered all over the living room. Ideas and thoughts he'd had throughout the night scribbled onto the pages. When he went back to read them later, his handwriting was so messy, the pages were illegible. He'd also decided to organize his closets somewhere in the middle of the night, but had only gotten as far as empty the closets all over the living room, before moving on to baking cookies. 

So there he was, an hour before he had to be at work, standing in a sea of old clothes and notebook paper, hundreds of dollars poorer, with nothing to show for it beyond three dozen snickerdoodles, six complete sets of vintage Captain America comics in the mail, and a raging migraine.

He'd felt like a total and complete failure.

He'd done what he had to do. Begged off work. Called Lynn and got in to see her that afternoon. Got his meds tweaked, like he knew he would. And he's better now. Didn't even miss more than a day at work. 

It wasn't a bad slip. In the grand scheme of things, it was barely a blip on the radar.

But...Mickey has no idea Ian's even sick. It hasn't come up any of the times they've hung out. (Total happenstance. Ian's not avoiding the topic. He's not.) So, when the Comic Book Thing happened, Ian decided that maybe he needed to take a few days to himself. Make sure he was back to his non-manic self before he approached Mickey again. 

It felt like a sound plan, at the time.

Except for the fact that Mickey has called him no less than six times, and Ian's avoided every one of those calls. He's also avoided all public spaces in the condo complex, and all his neighbors. Ian had actually dodged Teddy and Cal yesterday. Saw them heading for the elevator and dove behind the giant potted ficus in the lobby. 

Not his finest moment. 

Yeah, Cal and Teddy know about Ian's diagnosis. And they'd never tell Mickey, not on purpose. But Cal has no filter whatsoever. Can't keep his mouth shut to save his life. And Ian just knows if Mickey asked, Cal would spill the beans.

So Ian had been keeping the lowest of low profiles for the past few days. Just until he felt like himself again. 

Of course, that probably seemed even more suspect. Poor Mickey's been calling him on and off since their last date, and Ian's been too chickenshit to answer, unsure of what to say, and not wanting to lie. 

Now, he has to figure out a way to casually wander back into Mickey's life like he hadn't vanished into the ether after they left the bar together that night. 

That's assuming Mickey even wants to pursue things with Ian. What if he's calling just to end it? What if he doesn't want Ian at all, and this phone call is the death knell of Ian's burgeoning relationship with the man? 

No. Stop that. Anxiety brain is unreliable. Ian has no reason to believe Mickey doesn't want to see him anymore. 

"Ian." 

Ian whips his head up, pocketing his phone guiltily. "Yes, Mr. Stephens?" 

Ian's boss is leaning up against the corner of his cubicle, eyebrows raised, arms crossed over his chest, face pinched into a severe frown. 

Mr. Stephens is a menacing man on a good day, but this is just bad. 

"Do you have a pressing personal matter?" Mr. Stephens asks, pointing to the suit jacket pocket Ian's phone had disappeared into. 

Ian considered this. Did he have a pressing personal matter? 

Why yes, he did. 

The boy he liked may not like him anymore, and Ian was a feeling a little desperate. 

But...that's not the kinda thing you tell your boss. 

"No, Mr. Stephens." Ian replied, trying and failing to smile. 

"Then, please, get to work. I need that report on my desk before the banks close." Mr. Stephens shot Ian one more stern glare and turned back toward his office. 

Ian sighed, shaking his head as he rolled back to his desk. He needs to get his shit together. He can't afford to get on Stephens' bad side. He needs this job. He likes it here, and he's good at what he does. 

He's not about to let his disorder, or his crush get in the way of his livelihood. 

Ian took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then, he turned back to his desktop and started working the numbers. 

First, the Martin report. Then the Mickey situation. 

Ian's got this. 

***

Mickey glares at his phone, chastising himself silently for his lack of balls. 

God damn it. He doesn't do this shit. He never does any of this shit. 

And now he's starting to remember the reasons why. 

Mickey doesn't chase dudes. He doesn't pine after cute boys like those brainless bimbos in those high school romantic comedies Mandy fiends over. 

He doesn't spend his valuable time wondering why some hot shithead won't call him. 

Fuck this. 

Mickey knows Ian's at work. So calling (again) is ill-advised. Texting is much more practical. 

_ Mickey: just wondering if you were around. you _ _ kinda _ _ ghosted me. if that's what this is, a heads up would be nice.  _

Mickey stared at the text, wondering if it was too callous. He'd never been good with words. Too blunt for his own good.  But, he really doesn't know any other way to be. He can't sweet talk the guy, wouldn't know how.  So all he's got is the truth. 

It's better than nothing. Which is what Ian's given him. 

He sends the text and drops his phone on the conference room table just as Fitzy and Tobias walk in with his new on-air crew in tow, along with an army of lawyers and office drones. 

Fucking hell, Mickey is not looking forward to this meeting. He grits his teeth, grabbing his beer off the table and downing half of it in one go. 

One good thing about working for a rock station, there was always booze around. He didn't drink when he was on air, but if he was in the building and off the clock, you could probably find him getting buzzed on Tobias' dime. 

He picked his phone back up as the rest of the people filtered in for this stupid ass meeting. He was pointedly ignoring everyone as the uppity ups took their seats around the big round table. Old school Metallica (the good shit) was playing lowly from the speakers affixed to the wall. Mickey sung along under his breath as he checked his emails. 

Holy Fucking Shit. 

Serj Tankian from System of a Down agreed to an interview. Mickey has been going back and forth with his people for fucking months. The band isn't touring at the moment, their most recent album being released just last year. So there's not a lot of reason for the band to be taking interview requests at the moment. 

But it's a little-known fact in the music industry that Serj is a bit of a poet. Has had a couple books published and everything. Mickey happens to be a huge fan of Serg's writing. (not that anyone knows Mickey reads fucking poetry. Fuck you very much.) But it was that secret,  kinda embarrassing love of poetry that got Mickey this in with Serg. 

Mickey is so fucking excited. Talking to Tankian is going to be the highlight of his entire season, he can already feel it. Mickey is already making a list of topics to discuss. 

And the fact that those pricks over at 103.7 are going to be so fucking jealous is just the icing on the cake. 

Mickey can't wait to tell Ian. 

The thought catches him off guard. 

Why the fuck should he want to tell Ian anything? The guy clearly wants nothing to do with him. 

The thing is, Mickey really felt like they had something worth exploring. The sex had been phenomenal. And the two dates they'd been on had be successful, in his admittedly limited experience. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it had gone awful, and Mickey was just so out of practice that he hadn't seen the signs. 

See, this is why Mickey doesn't date. This is why he doesn't catch feelings or fall in love. Because of stupid bullshit like this. He's a grown ass man, not some weepy little preteen, too scared to talk to his crush.

It's fucking humiliating. 

Something's gotta give. Either Ian's interested, or he's not. And Mickey's gonna find out, and put the issue to bed one way or another. 

He'd sure like to put Ian to bed, but that's another thing entirely. 

"Milkovich, what the hell?" Fitzy's voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Shit. He just zoned out over his crush at a fucking work meeting. 

Ian Gallagher is fucking up his life by god damn proxy, and that just won't do. 

"Sorry, headache." Mickey lied, rubbing his temples for dramatic effect. He does have a headache, but he highly doubts a Gallagher-induced migraine can be cured with aspirin. "What were you saying?" he smiles at one of the no-name assistants as she hands him a fresh beer. 

These little office gophers know him so well. 

"Well," Fitzy cleared his throat, gesturing up the table to where his new co-stars were sitting. Tobias looked on with thinly veiled irritation. "I was trying to get through these introductions." 

The big boss man hated these meetings more than Mickey did. Mickey's pretty sure Fitzy had to promise Tobias something highly questionable or possibly illegal to get him to show up this early in the day. It was hardly past noon.

"Well, go on then." Mickey mumbled, sipping from his breakfast beer. "Get it over with, I have a show to prep for, unlike your nerdy ass." 

Tobias chuckled. Mickey toasted him with a wry smile. 

Fitzy tutted, fiddling with his glasses. "Okay then." he gestured toward Alexis, who had taken a seat on Tobias' right. "Mickey Milkovich, Alexis Andrews. You know her from Mistress Lexi's afternoon show." 

Alexis reached across the table, hand out. She was smirking at him, her blood red lips quirking up, eyebrows raised. 

Alexis was one of those goth looking bitches, with long dark hair and thick black eyeliner. She was vampire pale, the red of her lipstick standing out in stark contrast to her ghostly complexion. She was dressed like some kind of cheap imitation of a dominatrix. Red vinyl bustier, leather pants, fucking spiked stilettos. Shit tons of gaudy jewelry adorned her body. Industrial piercings in both ears, big chain-mail choker on her neck, endless rings on every fucking finger. It was a bit much, in Mickey's humble opinion. 

He attempted a smile, anyway. "Nice to meet you." he said. "I've heard good things." 

"I'm sure you have." Alexis smirked. Mickey frowned, a little put off by her attitude. "I've heard...things...about you too." 

Okay, now Mickey's getting pissed. This bitch better not be starting with him straight off. Mickey will have her off the show before she can even think to question him. 

"Oh yeah?" Mickey quirks an eyebrow, dropping her hand. "Like what?"

Alexis chuckles, running her fingers through her long hair. "Y'know, just the usual. I mean, I'm on twitter, just like every other red-blooded American. Although, I do have to say, you and your little boyfriend are too hot to be gay. Are you sure this isn't a ratings thing?" 

Mickey balks, blood up instantly. Who does this chick think she is? Mickey fought his whole life to be comfortable with who he is. Now this Goth Princess Barbie rolls up in his own god damn studio and accuses him of being a publicity whore? 

No. Fucking. Way. 

"Lex, Lex." Kenny laughs, looking very uncomfortable. "Let's not start off with that bullshit, eh? We talked about this." Kenny glances over at Mickey, small smile on his chapped lips. " Kenny Pratt. It's real good to meet you, Mickey. I've been a fan a'yours for a long time." Kenny reaches across the table, hand out. Mickey stares at his outstretched hand for a minute before nodding and shaking it. 

"Thanks, man." Mickey says. "You're a legend in this town. Good to have you on the team." 

Kenny grins, nodding too. "Thanks kid, the pleasure's all mine.”

Mickey likes Kenny immediately. Sure, he's been a fan of his on-air persona forever, but people are different in real life. And Mickey's first impression of Kenny is a good one. Tobias jumps up then, pulling up some scheduling thing on the big screen. 

There's a little chaos as Tobias and Fitzy  get their shit together for the actual meeting. Kenny and Mickey spend the time talking about their favorite bands and bits they might wanna try on the show.

Alexis spends the entire ten minutes scrolling through her phone, pointedly ignoring both her new co-stars.

That's just fine with Mickey. He's already had enough of that bitch for one day.

He can't even imagine what the show's gonna be like.

"Okay then." Tobias says, face looking a little pinched. "Fitzy, can you pass out those files, please? Let's get this meeting underway. Lexi has some ideas for some racier bits..." 

***

Ian's sitting on his sofa, laptop settled over his thighs, a lite beer within arm’s reach on the coffee table. He's supposed to be getting a head start on his newest client. Fight Club is am MMA studio in downtown Chicago. Downtown is their third location, and Ian can clearly see more expansion in their future.

Ian's done a bit of boxing, but never MMA. The owner of the company, Peter Fuller, seems like a good guy. He came down to the firm to discuss his business model and plans to expand. Ian is an accountant, not a financial adviser, but he did give the guy some tips on how to save some money on his taxes.

Ian was pleased to find his newest client was insistent on some heavy charitable donations. And not just for tax benefits either. Peter happens to be a retired Army Ranger, and donates heavily to a variety of charities that assist veterans. Ian's more than happy to help his client allocate his sizable fortune for maximum profits and maximum impact in the wider world.

Ian wishes all his clients were like Peter. All too often he deals with greedy penny pinchers, who only ever give to charity to increase their tax breaks. Ian helps them, like he helps all his clients. But he draws the line  at illegality. The way he grew up, he had no choice but to break the law sometimes.

Starve, or steal that food?

Stay sick, or go to the hospital and ignore the bill? 

Lose your home, or pull off some elaborate scam to keep it? 

These are the choices his family had to make growing up. But now that Ian's out of the ghetto and living (mostly) on the straight and narrow, he refuses to be an accomplice to his rich client's crimes. 

Tax evasion is not on Ian's resume. 

He doesn't need to worry about that with Peter, though. The guy is rigidly honest and considers paying taxes his civic duty. 

Ian's not so sure about that, but it does make his job easier. 

Peter had offered Ian a visitor's pass to the gym, and even though it's not Ian's usual workout, he's intrigued. 

So, instead of going over the figures and accounts Peter dropped off that day at the office, Ian's on Fight Club's website, perusing their offered classes and rates. 

He takes a sip of his beer as he clicks on a picture set of one of Peter's charity events, wanting to familiarize himself with how Peter's charity events work. Ian may have some suggestions, having done this before with previous clients. 

Of course, all those  work-related thoughts go right out the window when Ian's eyes drift to a set of very provocative pictures of none other than Mickey Fucking Milkovich.

How is this life?

Everywhere Ian looks these past few days, he sees Mickey. Since he decided he needed some alone time to get himself together, Mickey has materialized in his daily routine in all kinds of odd and outlandish ways. 

Billboards on the highway. Commercials on the television. He's seen trashy women wearing Mad Dog Mick t-shirts at the grocery store, and angsty looking teens watching his podcasts on the El. 

Mickey has inundated his life, and the man's not even trying. 

If Ian were a hippy, and not an accountant, he'd say it was a sign. 

As it is, he thinks it's just his shit luck. 

He clicks through the photos. Looks like Mickey had done a promotion at Fight Club not too long ago. Ian wonders how Mickey is connected to the club, and why he did a radio show there at all. What Ian does know is that Mickey looks hot as fuck in the octagon, shirtless and bloody as he goes toe to toe with Peter in the ring. 

And that's Ian's third Mickey-induced boner of the day. 

God damn it. 

Ian presses his palm against his erection, breathing slowly through his nose to calm himself. He's not going to jerk off again. 

He's not. 

He's still talking himself down when he's startled by a knock on his door. His head snaps up and he glares in the general direction of his front entryway. 

What the fuck? 

He's not expecting anyone and he's not in the mood for company. 

It's got to be Teddy. Ian knows he saw him by the mailboxes. Ian thought he'd evaded detection, but clearly not. 

The strident knocking and impending neighbor invasion shrivels his prick so fast, Ian swears he hears sad trombone noises as his boner wilts away to nothing. 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he lays his laptop down on the couch and moves to answer the door.

"Teddy, I told you when you called, I'm not in the mood for..." the words die on his tongue as he pulls the door open. That's not Teddy. 

"Hey." Mickey says, an anxious smile on his lips. "Is this a bad time?" 

Mickey isn't quite sure what he's doing, showing up at Ian's door when it's clear the man doesn't want to see him. He just can't seem to help himself. After that shit show of a meeting with his new costars, the only thing he could think of was to go to Ian. 

Maybe this was a mistake. 

"No!" Ian says, voice high and a bit too loud. Mrs. McArthur stopped dead in the hallway on the way to her apartment to stare at them, mace already in hand. 

"Don't shoot, Mrs. M." Mickey chuckles, hands up. "Just talkin' to my friend Ian." 

Mrs. McArthur shakes her head, but waddles away. 

"It's not a bad time." Ian says meekly, eyes shooting between Mickey's face and Mrs. McArthur's retreating back. 

"Can I come in before she calls the cops?" Mickey smirked, feeling the tiniest bit better when Ian laughed and waved him in. 

"Yeah, of course." Ian stepped back and Mickey came inside. God, he looks good. Ian knows it's only been a week since he's seen him, but it feels like much longer. Mickey's wearing a long sleeve gray thermal and a pair of black sweats that hug and ass and thighs in a way that brings Ian's dead boner back to life painfully fast. Ian adjusts his junk as he makes his way to the kitchen. "Beer?"

"Um, sure." Mickey says, sitting on Ian's couch. He can't help but think about the last time he was here....what they did together. 

But Mickey can't afford to get distracted by the admittedly hot memories of their animalistic fucking. 

He came here for a reason. 

Ian takes a seat next to Mickey on the couch, leaving a good amount of space between them as he hands him a beer and takes a sip of his own. Ian is nervous, he's sure Mickey can feel it radiating off him in waves of ginger anxiety. He takes another sip of his beer, trying desperately to play it cool. 

"What's up?" Ian asks, pleased to find he didn't stammer at all. 

"Dunno, you tell me." Mickey replies. He turned to face Ian fully, placing his beer on the coffee table. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Oh, don't give me that shit, Ian." Mickey scoffs. "You know what. You fucking disappeared, man. I mean...I thought we had a good time. We went out, twice. And you seemed like you enjoyed yourself alright. But I've been calling you like a fucking stalker for days now, and you've been doing nothing but dodging me." Mickey sighs, shaking his head at his own word vomit. He took a sip of his beer, taking a moment to calm his racing thoughts.

"Is this about the gossip rags?" Mickey finally asks, head down. 

Ian looks surprised, then shakes his head. Oh, Ian didn’t even consider that. "No." he said. "It's not that."

He'd seen it, of course. He follows Mickey on social media, just like everyone else in Chicago. He was, in fact, surprised to see himself all over social media. He'd gotten calls from Cal and Lip and Debbie, all of them shocked to see him trending on fucking twitter. But it didn't bother Ian. 

He was more worried about Mickey. About how the press would turn bad once people discovered Ian wasn't just an accountant, but a certified insane person with a sordid past and a record.

Mickey sighed, running his fingers over his top lip in irritation. "Look, if you've decided that you're, y'know, not into me or whatever, that's fine. I respect you enough to be cool with that. I'm not gonna hound you or freak out on you or anything." Mickey ducked his head, unable to look at Ian any longer. "It'd just be nice if you told me that." 

Ian's chest felt too tight. Like he couldn't take a full breath. His heart was hammering away and he could barely focus to form words. 

He knew this was going to happen. He knew it. He knew he was hurting Mickey by avoiding him, knew he was pushing him away. He’d hoped to have himself squared away in time to salvage this thing between them. Or, secretly thought that his silence would be enough to turn Mickey off for good. Ian would suffer the loss alone and go back to his solitary existence. 

But Mickey clearly wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. He was obviously hurt, and inexplicably blaming himself. 

The thought made Ian sick.

"I'm sorry." Ian ground  out, his voice not nearly as strong as he was aiming for. He can’t pretend anymore. Can’t fool himself into thinking he’s good enough for this man. "It's better this way. I’m... I’m no good. Not for you." 

"Are you fucking kidding me?” Mickey sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re going with ‘it’s not you, it’s me’??”

“Mick.” Ian groaned. “ I’ts true. I’m not good for you.” 

And exactly what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Mickey shot back, quickly growing irritated. "You a serial killer?"

"What?" Ian balked, face reddening so fast he starts to sweat. "No." 

"Fine, you gonna make me guess?” Mickey spat, feeling stupid and needy. “What’s your big, awful secret? You a spy? A fucking werewolf? A god damn republican?" 

Ian shakes his head, eyes wide. "No. I'm not...not any of those things?" Ian doesn't even know where to begin with this line of questioning. 

"Okay, so what then? What is so bad that you are giving me the 'it's better this way' line? Is this a romantic tragedy, and I'm unaware? Are you married? Promised to someone else? Moving away to join the Peace Corps ?" 

Ian knows Mickey's being ridiculous on purpose. Maybe he's just that confused, or maybe he's trying to bring some levity to a situation that clearly makes them both very uncomfortable. Ian has no way of knowing. But looking into Mickey cold, sad blue eyes, seeing the pain there, Ian knows there's only one thing he can do now. 

It's not like he can make it worse...

His chest feels tight. His eyes burn and his mouth is so dry his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. His breaths are coming in short, painful gasps. He turns away from Mickey, unable to look into his imploring blue eyes as he destroys whatever small thing was growing between them. 

This is it. This is the end.

"I'm bipolar, okay?" Ian spits the words like they burn his tongue. Like he is utterly disgusted and just can't take the taste of it. "There, now you know. I'm fucking crazy." 

Mickey just stares at Ian for a moment. Mouth open, eyes wide. Ian’s words repeat in his head on loop as he watches the other man’s face crumble. 

Ian looks like he’s on the verge of tears, and Mickey’s heart breaks for him. 

Mickey’s ears are ringing and his chest feels tight. 

He feels like the biggest asshole on the planet. 

“What?” Mickey can hear his own voice, but doesn’t recall speaking. He’s consumed with watching Ian fold in on himself, as if he needs to protect himself from Mickey. He drops down on the couch, curling his long arms around his bony knees, head resting on his kneecap. Ian’s body is pulled into a tight little ball, and Mickey’s never seen him look so small. 

“You fucking heard me.” Ian’s voice is muffled by his body. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t yell. Just mumbles into his knees, unable or unwilling to address Mickey directly. 

“I. ..I didn’t know.” Mickey mutters, running his fingers through his hair. He moves to sit next to Ian on the couch, but thinks better of it at the last moment, instead dropping down onto the coffee table in front of Ian’s compact form. 

“You didn’t know cuz I didn’t tell you.” Ian spat, his head whipping up so fast, Mickey has to swing backwards to avoid a collision. “I didn’t tell you cuz I didn’t want to, but here you are, accusing me of what? Serial murder? What do you even want?”

Ian feels raw. Exposed. Ripped open. Here Mickey is, in his house, interrogating him like some kind of criminal. Ian was gonna tell him. He was. He just needed some time to figure out how. But Mickey took that from him. And now here his is, on the verge of tears in his own living room, with the guy he likes witnessing another one of his stupid melt downs. 

This is Ian’s life. And it sucks.

“Ian...” Mickey says, voice low and laced with a sadness. “I’m sorry. I never meant to...I never meant to force you to tell me anything. It’s just, you disappeared, and I was worried. Then I thought I did something wrong. Then I thought maybe you had a boyfriend the whole time, and I was just a mistake. I thought all kinds of fucked up shit.” Mickey sighed, running his fingers over his mouth, shaking his head. “I don’t do this shit a lot. I fuck around, but I never really bother with the more personal aspects of it. Sex is sex, but I don’t date. I’m not good at talking about this shit. Actions are easier. Fucking is easier.” Mickey sighs, considering how shallow that sounds.  “So, we did this backwards or whatever. But I don‘t date anyway, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. So that’s already far outta my comfort zone. I already put myself out there in a way I don’t really do. And I guess I just sorta jumped to conclusions when I didn’t hear from you. Thought it was about me, or about us. I never, I never stopped to consider it may be a personal thing.” Mickey cleared his throat, feeling worse by the second. Here he is, having barged into his neighbor’s house, yelled at him, forced him to reveal something incredibly personal. “I, uh, I should probably just go.” Mickey nods to himself, avoiding Ian’s eyes as he stands. He takes one step toward the door, but doesn’t get any further. Ian’s hand comes up, his fingers wrapping around Mickey’s wrists, tight.

“Wait.” Ian says, voice low. 

Mickey turns, finds Ian’s eyes with his own. Ian still looks small, unsure. But he’s got a determination in his eyes that goes straight through Mickey. 

“Sit.” Ian says, pulling Mickey down on the couch next to him. In the spot Mickey wanted to sit at first, but was  unsure of his welcome. Mickey sits, angling his body toward Ian, and waits. 

Ian takes a long breath, letting it out slowly. He’s not really ready for this talk, but he’s even less ready to lose this thing with Mickey. What they have between them is new and precious, and if they are not careful, it will wilt away and die. 

Ian clears his throat, glancing up at Mickey. He’s going to maintain eye contact with him while he says this shit. 

Ian’s got nothing to be ashamed of, and he’s not going to hide. 

“I was avoiding you.” Ian says, voice low, but strong. “I was scared and I reverted back to old behaviors because it was easier than confronting my fears head on.” God, that’s Ian’s therapist all the way. Ian’s not ever sure he’ll get used to hearing that psychobabble bullshit spilling from his own lips. “I had a great time with you, on our dates. And I had every intention of calling you. But soon after our second date, I had a manic slip. I don’t know how familiar you are with Bipolar disorder...” 

“I know a bit.” Mickey interjects. “We did a fundraiser at the station for You’re Not Alone.” 

Ian nods, he knows the organization. A Chicago-based non-profit that raises money for mental health services in the city. Their ad campaigns are all over the city. Billboards, social media, television and radio. They do good work. Ian’s old free clinic on the south side got grants and free supplies from You’re Not Alone for years before Ian got insurance and a doctor of his own.

“Well, it’s one thing to read about it or work a charity. It’s another thing entirely to live it.” Ian huffed, shaking his head. “When I had my little slip, I got scared. I didn’t want to run you off, so I thought I’d just avoid you until I was normal again.” Ian sighed, knowing full well how stupid that sounded. “But when I was back to myself, I was worried too much time had passed. I didn’t know how to explain my absence to you without telling you too much. Then I didn’t want to lie. But I wasn’t ready for the truth either. And the longer I went avoiding you, the harder it was to make contact. And I’m sorry, but part of me...the really cowardly part, almost hoped you’d just give up.” 

“But why?” Mickey asks, shaking his head. “We had a good time, didn’t we?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” Ian nodded sadly. “But I can’t be who you want. I’m not okay, Mickey. I have slips like that all the time. Sometimes way worse. This one was only a day or so. But sometimes I go offline for weeks at a time. So hyped up I can’t be trusted to take care of myself, or too low to even get out of bed. I can’t put that on you. It’s not fair.” 

“Okay.” Mickey sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Two things.” he scooted closer to Ian on the sofa, gathering all his nerve to reach out and grip Ian’s hand in his own. He intertwined their fingers, resting their clasped hands on his knee. “It’s nice and all that you were looking out for me. In a misguided  kinda way, you were doing what you thought was best for me. But...I’m a grown ass man. I hope you’d respect me enough to let me decide if I wanna get involved with you. That you’d trust me to know what I can and can’t handle as far as relationships go. I may not have a shit ton of experience with dating or whatever, but I know enough to know who I do and don’t wanna spend time with. If I tell you I like you and like hanging out with you, maybe you should just trust that I mean it.” 

Ian’s mouth dropped  open, eyes wide. He went to speak, but Mickey put a hand up, stopping him. 

“Secondly, it’s not like I’m a total stranger to being a little fucked in the head.” 

Ian stared at him, incredulous. Mickey winced. 

“Sorry, that came out....yeah. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I get it. I may not be Bipolar, but I got the station involved in You’re Not Alone because they helped me too, when I was young and fucked up.” 

“You? What?” Ian gaped, eloquent as usual. 

“I don’t really feel like getting into the whole sob story right now, but let’s just say my childhood was no picnic, and left me with a lot of damage. Shit I’m still working through, other shit I’ll probably never get over. I got issues too man. Nightmares, panic attacks, depression. All that happy horse shit. So, for you to assume that your diagnosis would be a deal breaker is, well, kinda offensive?” Mickey doesn’t want to make Ian uncomfortable, but he can’t help but be a little disappointed. Did Ian really think Mickey would just turn his back on him? Over something he has no control over? 

“Oh Mickey.” Ian groaned, his face flushing with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. It's not that I didn’t think you’d accept me. I was just ashamed. I, fuck, I didn’t want to risk it. I don’t always get the best reaction from people, and I just like you so much. I was afraid to fuck this up before it even grew legs. Looks like I did it anyway. I’m sorry.” Ian hung his head, shameful. 

“Hey, hey, come on.” Mickey said, squeezing Ian’s hand. “I didn’t come over here to make you feel bad. I honestly thought you just weren’t into me. And I may or may not get a little defensive. I’m sorry I forced you to tell me something so personal when you weren’t ready.” 

“No, I wanted to tell you.” Ian insisted. “I just didn’t know how, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I was scared.” 

“Well, it’s not a deal-breaker for me.” Mickey replied, giving Ian a tiny smile. “I do like you, Ian. And I'd like to keep getting to know you. If you want, I mean.” 

“I do!” Ian yelped, then cringed. God, he just can’t play it cool to save his life. “I do want that.” he said, much more quietly. 

“Good.” Mickey smiled. “Then we’ll do that.”

Ian nodded, feeling the stress bleeding out of him in small increments . 

They sat quietly for few moments, coming down from their heated conversation, just enjoying their proximity. Ian slung an arm around Mickey’s shoulder, pulling them flush together on the couch. Ian just breathed for a minute, inhaling the sweet, warm smell of Mickey’s hair and skin. Mickey burrowed into Ian's side, unable to deny the comfort that came from being close to him this way. 

After a long moment, Ian jostled Mickey a bit. Mickey turned to grin up at Ian. “What?”

“We starting over, then?” Ian asks, hopeful.

“Nah.” Mickey shook his head, still smiling. Ian’s own grin slipped off his face, but Mickey just smiled wider as he gripped Ian by the back of his head and drew him down into a deep kiss. Mickey’s lips moved against Ian’s, his tongue coaxing Ian’s mouth open. Mickey smiled into the kiss, tasting the inside of Ian’ mouth. God, it’s so good. Mickey pulled back reluctantly, once Ian was flushed and breathless. “We don’t  gotta start over. Just cuz we had a bump along the way doesn’t mean the rest wasn’t good. How about we just go from here and try to do better, yeah?  Communicate, or whatever the fuck.” 

“Or whatever the fuck.” Ian laughs, shaking his head. Mickey grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows before leaning in for another kiss. He pushed Ian until he was laying on his back on the couch, Mickey sprawled over him, nestled in the cradle of his legs.

They stayed like that for long minutes, Mickey over Ian, kissing him within an inch of his life. It felt incredible, Mickey’s hands in Ian’s hair, running along Ian’s neck and chest. Mickey lips on Ian’s, the long line of Mickey’s body pressing into Ian’s, hot and hard. Muscle on muscle, coiled tight with anticipation. 

Finally, however, Mickey sat back up. Reluctant to break the kiss, but certain it was the right thing to do. He didn’t want Ian to think this was some kind of long, drawn-out elaborate booty call. 

Ian huffed a small laugh, slowly sitting up. He made no move to conceal the fact that he was adjusting his hard on, but did give Mickey a rueful little smile as he did so. 

“So, you came here to clear the air, but not to get off, then?” Ian asks, though it’s not really a question. It’s clear that Mickey’s not looking for a nut, or else he wouldn’t have stopped them just now. 

“I did come here to clear the air.” Mickey nodded. “But I didn’t know that at the time. When I knocked on your door, I was just pissed, and looking for someone to take it out on. So, I’m sorry about that.” 

“Huh?” Ian cocked his head to the side. “Mad at me?” 

“No, no.” Mickey insisted, reaching for Ian’s hand once more. “Some shit went down at work, put me in a real bad mood. But I can’t really go off on those assholes, so I moved onto being pissed at someone who can’t really destroy my career.” 

“Classic  transference." Ian nods, cursing his therapist once again. “Like, you can’t tell your boss to fuck off, so you tell me to instead?” 

“Yeah.” Mickey shrugs. “I guess. Like, I had a reason to be upset with you, but I was angry about a lot more, and I came over here with all that bullshit and just  kinda rained it down on you. If I hadn’t been so irritated, I may have gone about it differently. Like, not been such a prick about it.” 

“Do you wanna talk about it? The work thing?” Ian asks carefully. 

“Eh, it’s dumb.” Mickey sighed, resting his head on Ian’s chest. Now that he’s out of the office and away from it all, he feels like he may have overreacted. 

“Why don’t you tell me and I’ll let you know if it’s dumb or not?” Ian offers. 

So Mickey tells him. About the work meeting. About how the suits think he needs help holding the ‘straight assholes who say they’re not homophobic but still  kinda don’t like gays’ demographic. How his producers are bringing in two new co-stars. How one of those co-stars is a low-key homophobe herself. How Mickey is not looking forward to the changes, how the whole thing has him wary. How he’s afraid he’s going to become a big gay punch line on his own god damn show. 

It sounds ridiculous as he’s saying it out loud, but it’s true, and it’s how he feels. He falls silent after he finishes telling Ian about Lexi suggesting he needs to get ‘laid-laid, not gay-laid', and sighs. 

The whole thing is stupid. 

“She said what?” Ian growled, his fingers digging into Mickey’s hips. “That’s not right. That’s harassment. The workplace has protections in place.” 

“It’s different in radio, Ian.” Mickey sighed. “I work at a rock radio station with a reputation for pushing the envelope. Joking about my queerness isn’t out of bounds. Just like joking about the intern being a fat ass or the financial department being full of jews. We skirt the line of appropriate. It’s how we get laughs and how we keep our listeners. Like Stern.” 

Ian nods, though he doesn’t like it. “Okay, so what? You’re just going to be miserable? On your own show? Mick, you worked too hard to get where you are to roll over for some emo bitch. I know Mistress Lexi, she’s not funny, and she’s not relevant .” 

“She’s not.” Mickey agreed. “But she’s crass and over-sexualized and politically incorrect, and that’s what the demo I’m losing wants. I just started losing ground with the straight males demo, and the  higer -ups  wanna head it off at the pass.” 

“What changed?” Ian asks, a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“You follow Chicago Speaks on twitter?” Mickey asks instead of answering him. 

“The gossip site ?” Ian balked. “Fuck no. Why?” 

Mickey sighs, shaking his head. “ Cuz those blood sucking paparazzi got a bunch of shots of us on one of our dates. Put ‘ em all over twitter.” 

“But, Mick, you’re out. Everyone already knows your gay. Why would you lose listeners cuz of some pictures?”

“The way my producer explained it to me is this: it’s one thing for people to hear I’m gay. It’s something else entirely for them to see the reality of it. So, like, these people were cool with me being a fairy until I showed them what that entailed. They could accept the concept, but not the reality of it.” 

“Are you saying it’s my fault you are dealing with this right now?” Ian gasped, horrified. 

“Ian, of course not. It’d be the same with any guy I dated. It doesn’t matter that it’s you. It would be anyone, since I only date men. And I won’t ever blame you for what the press does, or what a bunch of homophobes do to my ratings. It’s not your fault, just like it’s not mine. Some people are gonna have a problem with us, no matter what we do.”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?” Ian asks, feeling sad for Mickey. Poor guy worked so hard to get his own show, and now he’s being bullied into something he doesn’t want to appease people who won’t ever like him anyway. 

“I’m gonna do what I always do, Ian. I’m gonna go into work and make the best of it. I’ll work with Lexi and Kenny and make the best show I can. It’s not like I’m not used to playing up the Straight Guy Shit anyway. You have heard my stripper horror stories bit. You think I do that for comedic value?” 

“But it’s funny.” Ian insisted.

“ Sure it is, but that’s not what gets the horny teenagers to listen. It’s the fact that I have half-dressed women in my studio talking about taking their clothes off. Even if it does nothing for me, it brings in listeners. This shit with Lexi and Kenny will be like that, but all the time. I know how to play the game, I’m just not used to being the focus of it.”

“How do you mean?” Ian asks, confused.

Mickey sighed again, really not wanting to talk about this. But Ian deserves to know what he’s getting into if he wants to try dating Mickey. “Alexis was talking about a “Girls, girls, girls” bit, like on Way Back Wednesday, when we do all the eighties music? So like, we’ll play Motely Cru, and Lexi will bring in this parade of strippers and hot girls and they’ll get all up on me...try to ....turn me straight.” as he’s saying it, Mickey watches Ian’s face. Ian’s expression goes from open and worried to stone cold and pissed the fuck off in the blink of an eye. 

“Mickey, no one can turn you straight. That...so fucking offensive.” 

“I know that Ian. But it’s not up to me. The bit was approved, and I have to go along, if I want to keep my job.” 

“Mick, that’s so fucking wrong.” Ian said, voice low and sad. “I, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not all that big a deal. I’ll survive a forced lap-dance. I’m telling you this because I wanna make sure you’re gonna be okay with all that. I wanna date you, Ian. I wanna take you out and get to know you. I wanna be with you, Ian. Fuck mental illness and fuck my show, fuck the press and the threat of bad ratings. I care about all that shit, of course. But not enough to walk away from something I think could be pretty fucking sweet.  Waddaya say? You think you can handle all that? Let me take you out?” Mickey is smiling, but it’s a strained thing. 

Ian smiles back, just as nervous. He wants that.  Of course he does. He really likes Mickey, and he’s enjoyed all the time they’ve spent together, would love more of that. He just can’t help his anxiety of the whole thing. 

His anxiety is the whole reason he ghosted Mickey to begin with. His own insecurities are bad enough, never mind adding the weight of the media and the entire internet to that. What is going to happen if Mickey and Ian hit it off for real? When they go public? Can Ian handle that kind of scrutiny? 

God, why can’t anything ever be easy? 

“Listen.” Mickey says, clearly sensing Ian’s unease. “Think about it, okay? Really take some time and think about it. You know where to find me if you decide to give it a go.” Mickey reaches up with one tattooed hand and pats Ian gently on the face. Mickey is smiling at him, but it’s a small, sad thing. “If I don’t hear from you, it’ll be a dead issue. No weirdness, though, okay. We’re neighbors, and we can still be friends. I just hope you make a different decision.” with that, Mickey’s up and out of Ian’s space. 

Ian watches him go, a little lost. Mickey lets himself out of Ian’s apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. 

Ian sits there for a long time after, really thinking about what he wants. He owes it to Mickey to consider everything they spoke about. 

***

A week goes by and Ian spends the time doing what he usually does. He goes to work, he works from home. He works out in the gym downstairs, and he goes out for drinks one night with Cal and Teddy, where he gets the hot gossip on all the neighbors and a few new sex toy websites to look up. He calls his brother and pays his bills. All the normal, mundane shit that makes his life.

But the entire time, Mickey is in the back of his mind. What he said, what he wants from Ian. Ian’s not a confident guy. He runs from his issues more than he’d like to admit. He’s not cocky anymore, not certain in his actions, and it shows in all he does.

But Mickey doesn’t seem to mind that. He seems like Ian in all his awkward accountant glory. Ian doesn’t want to give that up. He wants to at least try to be the person Mickey seems to see when he looks at him.

Ian’s sitting in his house on a Wednesday morning, spreadsheets laid out all over his dining room table, laptop open,  Mad Dog Mick in the Morning streaming through his speakers. He’s got to get this report done and emailed to Kaitlin by one p.m., or his boss will have his head on a pike. 

It’s that exact moment that finally makes Ian’s decision clear. He’s editing his spreadsheets, listening to an older My Chemical Romance song on Mickey’s show when the song ends and Mickey’s voice fills the room. 

“Hey guys, that was ‘The Ghost of You.’” Mickey’s sounds so different on the radio. His voice rougher, deeper. God, it’s sexy. “That song has always been a favorite of mine. The video is something else. Check it out if you’ve never seen it.”

Suddenly, a voice Ian doesn’t recognize is filling his ears. Shit, is today the day Mickey’s new co-stars start? Ian hasn’t listened to the whole show, he missed the first hour while he was doing his laundry.

“I don’t know, Mad Dog, that emo shit is for fags. Why don’t we play some Slayer?” that must be Mistress Lexi. 

Jesus, Ian hates her already. 

“Lex, Lex.” a third voice interjects. This must be that Pratt Attack guy. “How ‘bout we get on with our theme today. Mick, give us some eighties metal, kid.” 

“Sounds good, Kenny.” Mickey sounds like he’s laughing, but Ian can hear the tension in his voice. Ian understands completely, that backhanded ‘fag’ comment Mistress Lexi made has Ian’s blood boiling. 

No one says anything else, and Motley Cru’s ‘Girls, girls, girls’ starts pounding out of Ian’s speakers. Ian loves this song, love Motley  Cru in general. But he can’t shake the unease that comes with knowing what bit is up right after this song is over. 

The bit where Mistress Lexi forces random, half-dressed women onto Mickey in some disgusting attempt to turn him straight. Even if it’s only a bit for the show, it’s wrong in so many ways. 

Ian almost wants to call the station and complain. But that would be overstepping in the worst way.  So he grits his teeth and grabs his highlighter. He’s got work to do, after all...

***

Mickey feels like he may be sick. He’s sweating, and he actually feels dizzy. 

He didn’t think he was going to react this way. It’s such a stupid, small thing. But here he is, having a panic attack because some half-dressed stranger is about to straddle his lap. 

“So, this is Daisy.” Lexi says into her mic, a dark, smarmy smile on her lips. “She works down at Cherry’s on Metcalf Street. They have happy hour every day from five to seven. Half priced drink, twenty five percent of lap dances. And if all the girls look like Daisy, it’s well worth the money. Say hello, Daisy.” 

The girl is young. That’s the first thing Mickey notices. She looks barely legal, and it makes Mickey feel even more uncomfortable. She’s got long, bleach blonde hair and a thin, lithe body. Tattoos all over her thighs and back. She’s wearing a sad excuse for a bikini, barely covering her ass or nipples.

“Hey guys, so happy to be here.” Daisy says, eyeing Mickey with a hunger in her eyes that makes Mickey’s stomach clench uncomfortably. 

Gross. 

“So, we all know what this bit is about.” Lexi says, her voice laced with amusement. She’s leering at Mickey with obvious malice in her eyes. “It’s Daisy’s job here to see if she can turn Mad Dog straight with one lap dance. So girl, you get our resident man’s man to pop a boner, and you go home with a limited edition Motley Cru box set and two hundred dollars cash.”

Mickey can’t help but think that sounds suspiciously like conversion therapy prostitution.

But the bit is a go. Tobias already warned him not to cause a scene. So he sits in his chair with a blank expression on his face as Daisy saunters toward him. Motley Cru plays in the background and the stripper sways her hips in a way Mickey is certain entices straight guys.

It only serves to make him feel more anxious.

“Damn girl. You can move.” Kenny says from the other side of the desk. “Look at those thighs, shit.”

“I know, right?” Lexi giggles. “Daisy is one of my favorite dancers at the club.”

Mickey doesn’t hear anything after that. He’s too busy trying to keep his cool as Daisy plants herself on his lap and starts grinding her ass down on his flaccid cock. She pulls out all kinds of moves. Acrobatic shit that defies gravity. She hangs off his lap upside down, thrusting her hips up into his face. She rolls her hips  on his lap like she’s riding him. She grinds her nasty tits right in his face, smearing her nasty Victoria’s Secret perfume all over his mouth and nose. 

Mickey gags. 

“C’mon baby.” Daisy laughs, running her tongue along Mickey’s neck.  Gimme something to work with.” she grinds her ass down harder on his cock, rubbing it so hard Mickey feels like he may get blisters on his shaft. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?" 

“Alright, alright.” Kenny says as the song winds down. “Seems like Daisy isn’t  gonna be collecting any prizes.” He chuckles awkwardly, shooting Mickey a sympathetic look. 

“At least let me check.” Daisy says, her hand moving down to cup Mickey’s dick. Mickey yelps, jolting in his seat. He almost unseats Daisy and she scrambles to her feet, staring at Mickey aghast. 

“That’s enough.” Kenny says, glaring at Lexi. “Daisy, thanks for playing. We’ll hook you up with a gift card to Air Bar for being such a good sport.” 

Daisy rolls her eyes, but says nothing, sauntering out of the studio still  mostly naked. 

“That was a massive waste of time.” Mickey groused into his mic, hoping to make his displeasure known to his listeners and his bosses. He felt violated and foolish, and that’s not cool. 

“Next week we’ll bring in a sexy  asian girl from Ming’s Spa.” Lexi laughed. “I’ll find a girl to fix your broken dick.” 

Mickey jumped out of his seat and launched himself at Lexi, only to be stopped by Kenny getting between them. 

“We’ll be right back after a word from our sponsors.” Mickey growled into his mic before switching off the ON AIR button. He threw himself into his seat again, glaring at Lexi.    


“I didn’t like that.” Mickey said, voice vibrating with anger. “And I don’t want to do it again.” 

“Awe, come on, Mickey.” Lexi grins, waggling her eyebrows obnoxiously. “Let’s at least see what the numbers are before we pull the plug.” 

“Alexis, sexual assault is not in my god damn contract.” Mickey growled, slamming his hands down on the mixing table.

“Mickey, don’t be such a pussy.” Lexi spat, clearly losing her patience. “Women deal with unwanted touch all the damn time.” 

“That doesn’t make it right.” 

“ Gimme a break.” Lexi sighed. “You’re clearly a fag. Snowflake Me Too bullshit over here, my god.” 

Mickey opened his mouth to retort, but Kenny put a hand up. 

They were back on air. 

“Hey, this is Mad Dog Mick in the afternoon and you’re listening to way back Wednesday. Let’s take some listener calls.” Mickey pointed to Kenny and the man pressed the button for the first line on hold. 

“Hey Mick.” a girl’s voice said. “Just wanted to say you’re hot as hell, and if you  wanna try it with a real woman, I’ll come down there right now.” 

This is what Mickey was afraid of. Women coming out of the woodwork offering their vaginas on a silver platter in an attempt to convert his Super Gay Dick. 

Fucking ridiculous. 

“Thanks, but I'm good.” Mickey said, voice tight. “You have a request?” 

“Yeah, your cock.” 

Mickey shot Kenny a slicing motion over his throat, and Kenny cut the call. 

“Next caller, you’re on with Mad Dog.” 

“Hey Mick.” a young male voice said. “Just wanted to request some Megadeath and give my condolences for the loss of your manhood.” 

Mickey gaped at Kenny, eyes wide and angry. Kenny cut the call before Mickey could even muster a  response . 

If this is what Lexi and Tobias had been anticipating, they were dumber than Mickey thought. 

“Last call.” Mickey said, breathing heavy. “Hey, you’re on with Mad Dog Mick.” 

“Hey Mick.” Mickey recognized that voice. 

Oh no. 

“I just wanted to request some Queen.” the voice said. “And I wanted to let you know that you are an inspiration to the gay community in Chicago. Don’t let these hetero assholes get you down. I’m happy to count you among our gay clan, and I’m even happier to call you a friend.” 

“Thanks Cal.” Mickey laughs. “You’re not bad for a super nosy, super effeminate guy down the hall. Kenny, play some Queen for my neighbor and number one cheerleader, will you?” 

Lexi looks like she wants to blow Mickey’s head off. Kenny is smirking like an asshole. Mickey just laughs. 

He barely escaped his first ‘Girls, girls, girls’ day with his sanity intact. 

He can only imagine what Ian’s going to say. 


	2. I want you to want me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey try to have a date night. The wider world is intent on interrupting....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awe, man. i've been in a kinda way for a while. i have been going through a bit of an existential crisis. who i am in this fandom. if i really belong. i had an issue with some fandom people and now i'm questioning everything. but you know what? it doesn't matter. i'm gonna write no matter what... it may just take me longer, cuz i get depressed and hate myself. but so is life, yeah? 
> 
> i really hope you like this. it was a treat to write.

“Hey.” Mickey smiles, trying to mask his nervousness with his most charming grin. He’s surprised he’s still so anxious around Ian, after everything. There’s just something about him that makes Mickey giddy and terrified in equal measure. 

“Hey.” Ian replies, grinning as he stepped out of his apartment and locked the door behind him. Mickey darted forward quickly, planting a chaste kiss on Ian’s smiling lips before grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the elevator. 

Ian looks utterly delectable in his dark wash jeans and tight white thermal. Mickey didn’t know a grey pea coat could look sexy, but here we are. Mickey looks down at his own clothes, wondering what he looks like next to someone as unfairly hot as Ian. He wore his leather jacket over a grey cable knit sweater and his favorite pair of jeans. (Mandy says they make his ass look incredible, which is weird coming from his sister, but he hopes Ian agrees.) This date isn’t all that formal, just a movie, but he still wants to make an impression. 

It’s been about two weeks since Mickey confronted Ian about his disappearing act. Two weeks of phone calls and texts, dates around the city and long, lonely nights dreaming about Ian in all kinds of compromising and perverted positions. 

Mickey wants to fuck, of course he does. But...Ian is more than that to Mickey at this point. He needs the other man to know he’s serious about this. About them. Mickey needs Ian to know he matters to Mickey, that their relationship is more than just the hot sex they both know they can have together. 

So Mickey’s been taking it slow. Or at least he thinks he has. He honestly has no idea what he’s doing. 

“So, what movie do you wanna see?” Ian asks as they enter the parking garage beneath the building. Mickey pulls his keys out of his jacket pocket. He splurged a little when he bought his car. It’s not a muscle car or a classic, but his 2019 Subaru Impreza WRX is sleek and sexy. And fast. All black with a hood scoop and nasty spoiler on the trunk, it looks bad ass when he opens it up, speeding down the freeway like he’s an Indy car racer. 

“Whoa.” Ian says when Mickey hits the button and the alarm beeps off. “Nice ride.” 

“Thanks.” Mickey smirks, nodding. “I like it.” he drops into the driver’s seat and glances over at Ian when he slides into the passenger seat. Ian smiles back before trailing his eyes along the interior of the car. The interior looks futuristic and fancy, with the wide screen digital display and all red gauges. It's a stick shift, even though Mickey lives in the city. He just can’t wrap his head around driving an automatic. Those cars have no soul. 

Mickey pulls out of the garage and turns left, heading toward the newest movie theater in the city. It's some kind of concept design he heard about through work. There is a full bar and a limited hot foods menu. The seating is not your standard theater fare, instead of those uncomfortable chairs with their useless cup holders, each theater is fitted with sets of love seats, seating two or four people, respectively. 

Mickey’s only been to this particular theater once before, but the experience far outshone any other movie he’d ever seen. So this is the only place he wants to take Ian. 

Mickey’s not usually one to make this kind of effort, but Ian is worth it. 

Worth this and so much more. 

“Mick?” Ian’s voice pulls Mickey out of his head and Mickey glances over at him guiltily as they stop at a red light. 

“Huh?” Mickey replies, turning down the radio. Screaming Eddy in the Evening is on WROX right now, and even if Mickey likes Eddy as a person, he’s not a fan of his actual show. Too much yelling and adolescent pranks for Mickey’s taste. “I’m sorry, I was zoning out.” 

Ian chuckled, running his fingers through his hair with a small smile. “I asked you if you had a preference for the movie?” 

“Eh, I dunno.” Mickey said, flipping his turn signal and pulling into the parking lot besides Lyons Theater. “That war movie looked pretty decent. March of Darkness, or whatever?” 

“Yeah, seems pretty gory though.” Ian commented, recalling the brutally violent previews he saw on TV the other day. 

“Well...” Mickey wracked his brain for other movies showing. “How about Kiss of Death? Isn't that a vampire movie? But more like historical romance type shit, not all blood and murder?” It wouldn’t be Mickey’s first choice of film, but he wants Ian to enjoy their date. It doesn’t really matter what they see, as long as Ian is with Mickey tonight. 

“Yeah?” Ian asks as Mickey parks the car and cuts the engine. “You don’t mind? My little sister told me that movie was actually really good.” 

Mickey smiled at him, reaching across the center console to cup Ian’s cheek. “Whatever you want, man. Fine by me.” 

Ian gave Mickey a shy smile, nodding. “Okay then.” 

*** 

The theater was even more opulent than Ian expected. Of course, he’d heard about Lyons Theater, but he’d never had an opportunity to go there. The tickets were almost double the price of a regular theater, and Ian just couldn’t justify spending that much. 

Of course, Mickey refused to let Ian pay for a damn thing. They’ve gone out about a half dozen times at this point, including their two dates before Ian ditched out on Mickey. Ever since Ian agreed to try again, Mickey’s been adamant about footing the bill each time. 

Ian’s hopeful that Mickey will let him start at least splitting the checks if they decide to keep seeing each other. Ian's been a kept boy in the past. And even if Ian knows Mickey is nothing like the rich married men who bought his affection while he worked at the Fairy Tale, Ian can’t escape the feeling of being bought and paid for. 

He’ll talk to Mickey about it later. Ian knows in his heart Mickey doesn’t see him like that. Maybe this is something he should talk to Laura about. 

Ian puts the maudlin thoughts out of his mind as he and Mickey make their way to their seats. Mickey had reserved a two-person love seat with recliners in the middle of the theater. The seats were comfortable, spacious and soft with footrests bolted to the floor in front of them. There was a small stainless steel table in front of their seats with a big red button on the far edge. The vampire movie had been out for about a month, and the theater wasn’t even a quarter full. 

They were sitting together in the middle of the love seat, Ian’s arm slung casually around Mickey’s shoulders, discussing their respective days at work when a statuesque brunet dressed all in black walked over to them. 

“Hello gentlemen, welcome to the Lyons. My name is Hannah and I’ll be your server tonight.” she says, handing each man a small laminated menu. Ian looked it over. Hot wings, mozzarella sticks, potato skins and fried mac and cheese bits. Along with an extensive list of beers and wine. 

Damn. 

“I’ll give you a minute.” she said, walking away. 

Ian perused the menu, confused. 

“Mickey, how do we get refills on our drinks while the movie is playing?” 

Mickey just smirked and pointed to the red button at the edge of their table. “Hit that shit and they come running. Pretty sweet, huh?” Mickey is pleased to see the surprised expression on Ian’s face. He wasn’t going out of his way to impress him, but it was a nice side effect. Ian grinned wide, and Mickey’s heart fluttered. 

God, he is so gay for this kid. 

The thought makes Mickey chuckle. 

Hannah came back just before the previews started, and they ordered. Mozzarella sticks and sweet potato fries (which Mickey has never had, but Ian swears by.) and a couple of domestic beers. 

They settle into their seats, wrapped up in each other as the previews play on the massive screen in front of them. Mickey doesn’t really pay attention, too enraptured by the heat of Ian’s body pressed against his. Mickey laid his head on Ian’s broad, bony shoulder and sighed. He can’t explain it, but just being near Ian makes all the tension in his body evaporate. It feels so nice. Freeing. 

As long as he doesn’t let his thoughts run rampant in his mind. 

It’s not easy, though. Mickey can’t help but wonder when the other shoe is going to drop. When is Ian going to have another freak out, disappear on him? Mickey doesn’t want to think that way, but it’s hard with the limited history they share. 

The movie starts and Mickey decides to put all that shit on the back burner and just enjoy this. 

Their food and drinks come and they gorge themselves on carbs and cheese, washing it all down with heady local brews. The movie isn’t great, but it isn’t bad either, and Ian seems to be really into it. So Mickey just smiles and drinks his beer, relishing the moment. 

About halfway through the film, Mickey leans forward and hits the big red button on their table. It lights up and then Hannah is there, leaning in close so Mickey can whisper his order for another round of beers. 

It's probably the most fun Mickey’s ever had at the movies, and that’s only partially because of how bad ass the theater is. 

The company is what makes it so wonderful. 

Ian is having a great time. He only drinks two beers, not wanting to get too sloppy, but he and Mickey keep their heads close through the whole film. Ian’s arm stays tight around Mickey’s shoulders and they whisper to each other about plot points they like and one ridiculously over the top, gratuitous hetero sex scene. 

“Why are they even fucking right now? The head vampire is like, two seconds away from capturing them.” Mickey grouses, throwing his hands up. 

“I don’t know.” Ian admitted, reaching for the last cold fry on their plate. “I don’t think movie producers need a reason to show us a set of augmented tits.” 

And then Mickey is throwing his head back and laughing so hard he gets shushed by like four people. But he doesn’t give a fuck. 

This is the best he’s felt in a long time, and no stuck up vampire groupie movie snob is going to ruin it for him. 

*** 

After the movie, they walk back to Mickey’s car, bumping shoulders and laughing about the end scene of the film. They had decided to head over to Scoops, a hipster ice cream shop not far from their apartment building. Ian’s sweet tooth was aching, and Mickey was happy to oblige him. 

It was obvious neither of them were ready for the date to end, but neither man mentioned it. 

“I did not expect him to blow everyone up.” Ian admitted with a chuckle. 

“I mean, it was the best way to make sure they were dead, right? Vampires can’t regenerate like Deadpool...” Mickey reasoned. 

“I never saw that movie.” 

Mickey stopped dead on the street, shooting Ian the most incredulous look he could muster. “You didn’t? But....it’s so funny.” 

“I just...” Ian didn’t get to finish however, because at that moment a pair of very drunk girls stumbled out of The Full Moon Tavern and right into their path. 

Mickey and Ian went to move around them, separating when it was clear the girls weren’t going to make room for them. But just as Mickey stepped past the first girl, she whirled around drunkenly and gasped. 

“Mad Dog!” the blond one shrieked, causing Ian to wince and Mickey to groan. “Tara! It's Mad Dog Mick.” 

The girls were in their early twenties, decked out in club wear and ripped stockings. Skirts so short you could see their ass cheeks and tops so low their tits were on full display. Stilettos made them as tall as Mickey, which always felt weird to him. Their flushed faces and smeared make-up made it clear they’d been partying for hours. 

They looked like a pair of hookers after a debaucherous bachelor party. 

The red headed one, Tara, screamed bloody murder, launching herself into Mickey’s arms like they were long lost lovers. “Ohmigod! I love you so much. I listen, like every day. I swear I never miss a show.” 

Mickey gently but firmly extricated himself from the drunk girl’s arms, carefully standing her up straight next to her friend who was leaning against a parked car. “Um, thanks.” he mumbled, moving away. 

“Lynn! Don't let him go!” the Tara cried, clutching onto her friend. Ian watch, horrified as the two women latched onto Mickey like a pair of booze-soaked koalas, grabbing his arms and preventing him from moving. Mickey’s eyes went wide, then irritated in a spit second. Ian just stood there, hands hanging loosely by his sides as he witnesses the bizarre scenario. He was confused, but unsure if he should step in. 

“Who’s this?” Tara barked, rubbing her hands along Mickey’s chest as she glared at Ian. “Are you that gay guy from twitter that’s trying to turn Mad Dog into a fag?” 

And that’s when Ian decided he may just have something to say. 

“Eh, enough.” Mickey growled, finally escaping the women’s clutches and returning to Ian’s side. “I’m glad you guys like the show, but my private life isn’t really part of the deal.” 

“Awe, come on Mad Dog.” Tara whined, curling up against him again. Mickey could smell vodka on her, wafting off her in nauseating waves. His jaw clenched as he felt her clumsily trying to wedge herself between Ian and Mickey’s bodies. “Let me and Lynn take you home. A hot threesome with two sexy bitches will turn you off dick for life.” 

Ian’s mouth dropped open and he saw red. “Get the fuck off him!” he barked, grabbing Mickey’s wrist and pulling the other man to his side. He threw his arm around Mickey’s waist, pulling him flush against his body. “I don’t know if you know this, but what you just did is assault. Not to mention incredibly rude and presumptuous. What makes you think he’d fuck you even if he wasn’t gay? Which he IS. Touch him again and I will call the fucking cops. That bar you just crawled out of has security cameras, so it caught the whole nasty thing on tape. So get fucking lost, or me and MAD DOG are pressing charges.” Ian was breathing heavy, glaring at the two women like his stare could burn them both to cinders. 

“Whatever, fag.” Tara spat, poking Mickey hard in the chest before turning to walk away. “Your stupid gay dick probably couldn’t satisfy us anyway.” 

Lynn shot them both an apologetic smile. “We’re not homophobic.” she said nonsensically. “Nice to meet you.” and then they were gone, leaving Mickey and Ian reeling in their wake. 

“What the fuck.” Mickey sighed, turning and heading up the street so fast Ian had to run to catch up with him. “It’s never been this bad. I don’t know what to do.” 

Ian sighed, nodding. “You think it’s that Mistress Lexi shit? You think that ‘turn Mickey straight with strippers’ is making people bold?” 

“Yeah.” Mickey said, sounding dejected. “I mean, there were always intolerant assholes in my fan base. People who like the show, but don’t wanna think about me sucking dick. And it was fine, cuz it’s not like I talked about it a lot. I didn’t hide it, but I didn’t spout off about it all the time, cuz it’s fucking irrelevant to my show.” 

“But now Lexi’s making it an issue, and bringing it to the front of everyone’s mind. Ever since that bit, I've been getting att’d all over twitter and the show is blowing up with phone calls and emails from girls who wanna, and I quote ‘fix me’. It sucks, man.” 

Ian sighed, his heart breaking for Mickey. “C’mon, we’re skipping Scoops. I’ve got ice cream at my place, I’ll make you a sundae.” 

“Yeah?” Mickey said, hopeful. “That sounds nice. Thanks, Ian.” 

“Don’t thank me.” Ian insisted. “Any excuse to spend more time with you is a good thing to me.” Ian knows how incredibly cheesy that sounds, but he’s still amped up from the confrontation with Mickey’s drunk fans, and feeling a little desperate to stake his own claim to the man. Ian can’t help but remind himself how close he came to losing Mickey due to his own insecurities. 

The facts of the matter are this: Mickey is smart and funny and famous in Chicago and across the country. He’s sexy and clearly he’s an object of desire, if those girls are anything to go by. He’s incredible and Ian can’t get enough. 

And Mickey wants him. 

So, sure, Ian’s feeling bold. He’s feeling possessive and excited and so damn happy Mickey even wants to be in the same room as him. 

So he’s gonna ride this wave until it crests. 

Mickey just huffs out a small laugh as he leads Ian back to his car. 

Ice cream at Ian’s house sounds like the perfect way to end their evening. 

*** 

The elevator ride up to Ian and Mickey’s floor is...heated. Once the doors close on them, Ian pounces, pinning Mickey to the wall of the lift. He runs his hands down Mickey’s sides and tucks his face into the juncture where neck meets shoulder. He bites down hard, his teeth grazing the warm skin of Mickey’s throat, as his hand snake underneath his sweater. Fingertips soak in the warmth of his soft skin, and Ian groans. He smells delicious this close up, and Ian’s head spins with it. 

Mickey sighs, his head dropping back as his back arches into Ian’s body. Ian’s lips on his throat are hot and wet, his tongue laving along all the exposed skin, making Mickey shiver. His teeth are sharp, sending a jolt of heat up Mickey’s spine. He threads his fingers through Ian’s messy red hair, wrenching his head back. Mickey hums possessively when Ian whimpers at the stretch of his scalp. 

“Fuckin’ kiss me.” Mickey growls, crushing their lips together. Ian whines low in his throat as Mickey’s tongue slips into his mouth. 

The kiss is rough. All teeth, and Ian can do nothing but submit to it. His mouth falls open on a moan and Mickey takes over, licking into Ian’s mouth hungrily. 

“God, fuck.” Ian groans, just as the elevator door open to reveal their neighbors. 

Ian and Mickey separate like they’ve been electrocuted. They stand an few feet apart, both plastered against the back wall of the lift, stiff-limbed and suspicious. Their neighbors just looks at them for a moment before Ian and Mickey get their shit together and step off. 

Strangely, their neighbor doesn’t get on the departing elevator. They just stands with them in the hallway. 

Wonderful. This is gonna be awkward. 

“Mickey, good to see you again.” Theresa, the woman in 8A says. She's got her teenage son with her, which makes it that much weirder. Ian barely knows them. He does know Theresa is a nurse at Chicago Memorial, but he doesn’t know much beyond that. Theresa keeps to herself mostly, never attending any of Teddy and Cal’s ‘building mixers.’ 

Ian’s almost surprised she knows his name. 

“Theresa, hey.” Mickey says, surprising Ian. Ian’s not sure why he’s always shocked when Mickey is social around the building. He just gives off such an unapproachable, bad boy vibe, Ian is constantly surprised when people flock to him. 

He really should know better. 

“How are you, Mickey?” Theresa asks, smiling at the two of them. 

“Oh, you know. Good.” Mickey replied, motioning toward Ian with his hand. “This is a friend of mine, Ian. He lives on our floor. Dunno if you two ever met.” 

Theresa steps forward and Ian forces himself not to step back. He can do this. The new neighbor meeting. He's done it a million times at this point, and Theresa’s not nearly as frightening as Damian in 4C, with his leather harness and increasingly long list of ‘disappeared’ pet cats. 

Ian puts his hand out, smiling his most genuine ‘nice to meet you’ smile. “Ian Gallagher, it’s a pleasure.” 

“Oh, aren’t you just such a gentleman.” Theresa smirks. “I’m Theresa Landis, and this is my son, Trent.” 

Ian glances over, only to find a kid, maybe eighteen years old, long dark bangs obscuring his face, but Ian can clearly see his grey eyes are lined with heavy black eyeliner. He’s dressed all in black with a Mudvayne t-shirt on and a grimace on his face. He’s staring at his phone, pointedly ignoring his mother and everything else going on in the hallway. “Trent, say hello to Ian and Mickey.” 

Trent looks up, glaring at Ian with an impressive amount of disdain before locking eyes with Mickey. “Hey Mick. Loved your show on Tuesday, way to stick it to the man. I know all about going hungry, and I thought it was super cool of you to raise all that money for Feed Chicago.” Trent actually blushes, and Ian’s eyebrows migrate to his forehead. “It was fucking awesome man, especially what you said about Mayor Carlson cutting funding to the poorest neighborhoods. That guy’s a dick.” Trent’s language earns him an elbow in the ribs from his mother, but the teenager just rolls his eyes again, smiling at Mickey. 

Mickey chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. “Hey, if the government is gonna cut spending to food pantries, you better believe we’re gonna pick up the slack, right?” 

Trent’s face is burning and he’s smiling so hard it looked painful. Theresa stepped in then, gripping Mickey’s shoulder. “Mickey, you know how much that means to us.” Mickey nodded, a small smile on his face. He’s not sure how he got close to Theresa, but ever since she moved into the building with her son, Mickey has inadvertently fallen into some kind of friendship with the single mother. 

It started out with an accident at the gym downstairs. Mickey had been doing dead lifts while Theresa was doing leg presses a few machines away. Theresa misjudged the weight and got stuck all crunched up, unable to return the weight to it’s resting position. Mickey freed her and they struck up a conversation. 

Since then, they work out together once in a while, chit chatting about life and building gossip. This is how Mickey found out about Theresa’s husband leaving her for his secretary, abandoning Theresa and Trent to fend for themselves. 

In the two years it took for the divorce to finalize, Theresa had relied heavily on food stamps and charity to make ends meet, while she went back to school and became a computer programmer, thanks to some other government assistance program. 

Turns out Theresa is some kind of computer whiz, and now makes six figures doing web security for one of Chicago’s biggest financial institutions. 

She makes ten times more money than her deadbeat ex, but has never forgotten where she came from, or who helped her when she was down. 

It was one of those conversations that gave Mickey the idea of working with the food banks. He remembers quite clearly going to food pantries with his older brothers, desperate for anything to fill their empty bellies. 

“Well, I know all the money you raised is going to feed hungry children. And that is an amazing thing to do.” Theresa smiled, gripping Mickey’s hand with both of hers. “We should get coffee some time soon. I have a few ideas for fundraisers my company might wanna team up with your station on.” 

“Oh yeah?” Mickey smirked, eyebrows raised. “The white collar crew wants to get in bed with the bad boy of rock radio?” 

Theresa chuckled, smacking Mickey’s shoulder. “Money is money, kid. Besides, it’ll be good publicity for them. Everyone still sees corporations as soulless entities.” 

“Well, if the shoe fits.” Mickey laughed, glancing over at Ian. The other man had an odd look on his face, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest. Mickey shot him a reassuring smile before turning back to Theresa to set a date for coffee. Tobias has been on him about another charity idea, and Theresa was never short on fundraising concepts. 

“So, who are you, anyway?” Trent asks Ian suddenly. Ian tears his eyes away from Mickey, who’s chatting with away with Theresa, and glances over at the kid. 

He looks like what Ian assumes Mickey did at that age. Goth’d up and angry. Ian’s not sure what to make of any of this. Mickey seems to be friendly with everyone in the building in a way Ian’s not quite capable of. Ian’s not sure what emotion he’s feeling. He’s not jealous, not really. 

He just wishes he could find that easy affability in himself once more. He misses being about to charm people. To make friends easily, to feel that belonging. 

Trent waves a hand in front of his face, pulling out of his head. “Dude, are you high?” 

“What? No.” Ian balks. “I live on this floor. Mickey’s a friend of mine.” 

“I’ve never seen you.” Trent replies, eyeing Ian warily. 

“I keep odd hours, and I keep to myself, mostly.” Ian replies, unsure why he’s explaining himself to some random teenage neighbor. 

“You fucking him?” Trent asks, shocking Ian so much his mouth drops open like the hinge broke. 

“Excuse me?” Ian replies, glancing to Mickey for help. But the other man is deep in discussion with Theresa, his hands flying wildly as he speaks. “I don’t really think it’s any of your business.” 

“Dude, it’s everyone’s business.” the kid replies with a defiant roll of his eyes. “It was all over twitter and the gossip sites. You’re the dude Mick’s been photographed with. More than once now. Everyone knows Mick’s gay. He’s, like, super out and shit. It’s a big deal.” Trent’s got this dreamy look in his eyes and a dopey smile on his face, and in that moment, Ian understands. 

Trent doesn’t just look up to Mickey, he’s got a crush on him. 

Well, that’s kinda cute. 

Until he speaks again, that is. 

“I don’t know if you’re good enough for him, honestly.” Trent says, as his eyes go from dreamy to hard in a second. “There’s, like nothing about you online. You’re just a basic dude. Fucking accountant, really?” 

Ian is confused. How does this kid know about him? 

“I read the article, dummy.” Trent sighs, and Ian realizes he must’ve said that out loud. “Have you not? About Mad Dog’s new mystery man? It was all generic info you can get off Facebook and LinkdIn, but still. You’re so....normal. Boring.” Trent says it like Ian should be embarrassed. He says it with so much surety, that Ian starts to feel like he’s right. He’s certainly not normal, but he is boring these days. He has to be, to stay sane. “Mad Dog needs someone bad ass, like him. Someone wild and fun. And you....” Trent eyed him up and down disdainfully. “Are painfully nerdy and awkward. It’s a waste.” Trent gives Ian one more sweeping glance. Seemingly finding Ian lacking, he just shakes his head and wanders back to his mother. 

Ian is so shocked, he can’t even reply. He just stares at the little asshole, mouth open, rage boiling just under the surface. 

It’s just so close to what Ian was already thinking. Mickey’s too good for him, Ian will never be enough. To hear it said so casually, by someone that doesn’t even know him. 

It hurts. 

“Hey.” Mickey says, coming up behind Ian, hands on his hips. Ian didn’t realize he was so close, jumped a mile. “Whoa man, it’s just me.” Mickey turns him, gives him an unsure smile. “You okay?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Ian replies, trying to smile back. He watches Kurt and Theresa get on the elevator, smiling and waving. Mickey waves back happily. “See you at Beans & Books on Tuesday, bring your list of ideas.” 

“Will do.” Theresa smiles. 

“Bye Mick!” Trent yells, his lips curling into a smirk that feels oddly menacing to Ian. 

“See ya later.” Mickey replies, painfully oblivious. 

Ian follows Mickey to his own door. Mickey steps aside so Ian can let them in. The leave their shoes by the door and shed their outer wear. 

“Go on and sit, I'll make the sundaes. Did you want coffee? I can irish it up.” Ian is determined to put the bizarre encounter with their neighbor out of his mind. Mickey is here with him, that has to mean something. He pushes his self-hatred to the back burner and forces himself into the moment. 

“Sounds good.” Mickey replies, making himself comfortable on Ian’s couch. 

Every time Mickey is in Ian’s house, he can’t help but recall their first encounter. How fucking hot it was. 

How hot Ian is. 

Even if the poor guy can’t see it, Ian really is the total package. Mickey just wishes there was a way he could make Ian see what he sees. 

Ian is quiet in the kitchen, and that in and of itself is concerning. Ian is a chatterbox, at least when it’s just the two of them. 

“You okay in there?” Mickey calls out, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. There seems to be some kind of spy movie on, so Mickey just tosses the remote aside. Espionage is always interesting. 

It takes Ian a suspiciously long time for Ian to answer. “Hm?” he calls back. “Oh, yeah. Fine.” 

Mickey doesn’t believe that for a second. He wracks his brain for what could be wrong now. It can’t be the confrontation with the drunk girls, Mickey’s fairly certain they squashed that shit. 

Mickey sighs. “You sure? Sound pretty bummed in there.” 

Mickey can hear Ian’s responding huff, but the other man ignores him, instead talking about fucking ice cream of all things. 

“Anything you don’t want?” Ian asks. “I got toffee ice cream. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce. Um.” Mickey hears cabinets opening and closing, and smiles at the mental image of Ian rummaging around his kitchen, making food for Mickey. 

It’s oddly domestic, and Mickey’s surprised to find he doesn’t hate it. 

This kinda stuff is pretty far outside his wheelhouse, but Mickey can admit it feels nice. Just being here in Ian’s apartment, relaxing while the other man feeds him. 

Ian sets the bowls out on the counter, scooping ice cream into each bowl evenly. 

“No nuts.” Mickey replies. Ian grins, adding walnuts to only his bowl. 

“Are you allergic?” Ian asks. That is an important thing to know about someone you’re dating. 

They’re dating now, right? 

They haven’t talked about being exclusive, but Mickey has made it clear he wants to pursue something beyond the physical with Ian. So these little facts about what make Mickey the man he is are important. 

“No, not allergic.” Mickey chuckled, sliding up behind Ian and wrapping his arms around his waist. Ian startled a bit, surprised that Mickey had gotten so close without him noticing. He easily relaxed into the embrace, though, smiling to himself as Mickey curled as close as humanly possible, flexing his finger on Ian’s hips. “Just don’t like those kinda nuts.” Mickey laughed a bit, cupping Ian’s balls in one hand. “These ones, on the other hand.” 

Ian groans through a laugh, his body reacting to the touch. “Eh, quit it. This ice cream’ll melt and all my hard work will be for nothing.” he pushes Mickey away gently, handing him his bowl. “C’mon, let’s go eat in the living room.” 

Mickey takes his bowl with a sigh. “Fine, but I fully expect to get those nuts later.” 

Ian just laughs, leading Mickey back to the living room. They drop down on the couch, close enough that their hips touch, and dig into their dessert. They eat in silence. Ian can’t quite forget the words that little punk said. Add that to the drunk girls on the street, and Ian’s self-worth is pretty much in the shitter right now. He’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t notice Mickey watching him out of the corner of his eye. 

Mickey can tell something’s up. Ian’s a wild card on a good day. He can go from elated to maudlin in a heartbeat, and Mickey doesn’t think that has anything to do with his disorder. It has everything to do with the way Ian sees himself. He radiates this nervous energy, unsure of every step he takes, every word he says. Mickey has no idea how to fix that. The only thing he can think to do just keep showing Ian how much he likes him. How much he wants him. 

With that thought in the forefront of his mind, Mickey acts. He drops his bowl on the coffee table before throwing a leg over Ian’s lap, settling heavily on top of him. Ian grunts, but recovers quickly. He hands Mickey his bowl, and the minute it's deposited on the table, Ian's free hands come up to settle on Mickey’s hips. Ian finds himself staring up at Mickey in wonder, trying to wrap his head around this turn of events. 

“Mick? What’s up?” 

“Dunno, Ian. You tell me. Didn’t we just have this conversation? Something’s buggin’ ya, and you’re keeping it all locked up in that pretty red head of yours. Is it that shit with those drunk bitches from earlier? Cuz I told you, it’ll be okay. People’ll get bored of talking about where I stick my dick soon enough.” 

Ian sighs, tipping his head back. He stares at the ceiling, his fingers drawing little circles on Mickey’s hips. “It’s not that.” he says evasively. He really doesn’t want to say anything. Mickey is clearly friendly with Theresa, and Trent is her son. Ian doesn’t want to make waves. 

“Ian.” Mickey grabs Ian’s head in both hands and brought their faces together. “Spit it out.” he commanded. It’s funny that Mickey’s the one pushing Ian to talk. This is not his forte either. Even though he makes his living talking, feelings and shit just aren’t in his bag of tricks. 

But Ian is important to Mickey, and Mickey has already seen what happens when Ian keeps his shit all locked up in his head. The kid implodes, and Mickey just can’t watch that happen again. 

Not if he can do something to avoid it. 

He’s not exactly comfortable with this type of conversation, but he’s willing to put his own insecurities aside if it means saving Ian from his anxious self. 

Ian groans, feeling powerless to deny Mickey. (which probably doesn't bode well for him if this relationship grows legs) “Just something Trent said to me.” he admits. 

“Trent?” Mickey balks, eyebrows up. “He’s just a kid. What could he have possibly said to you to get you all riled up?” 

“I know.” Ian sighs, feeling stupider by the second. “He just said some things that got under my skin. But I know it’s just cuz he’s got a crush on you, so I shouldn’t even be upset.” 

“Wait, what?” Mickey says, confused. “Trent does not have a crush on me. I don’t even think he’s queer.” 

“Mick, the way he looked at you? He was fucking blushing like a tomato. He may as well have been twirling his hair and batting his eyelashes. He was practically drooling.” 

“He’s just a kid.” Mickey repeated. Ian rolled his eyes. 

“He’s seventeen, Mick. What were you up to at that age?” 

Mickey scoffed, shaking his head. “Whatever, man. I still think you’re wrong. Anyway, what did my newest number one fan say that got to you so bad?” 

Ian winced at the memory. “He told me he read about me online. Some articles about ‘Mad Dog Mick’s new mystery man.’ or some bullshit like that. He told me I’m not good enough for you. That I'm too boring. That you’re wasting your time with me, that you deserve someone more like yourself. Someone cool.” 

Mickey’s responding laugh shocked Ian. He just gaped at the other man as he lost his shit giggling in his lap. Ian waited patiently, a quizzical look on his face as Mickey wound down until he was just chuckling, shaking his head. 

“Ian, I don’t even know where to start with that. You’re going to let some Marilyn Manson wannabe teenager get in your head like that? He doesn’t know you. None of those assholes on the internet know you. I know it feels shitty to have people you don’t know passing judgement on you. It happens to me all the time. I mean, openly gay kid on rock radio? I’m just asking for people to shit on me. But you didn’t ask for anything of this, so I understand. It’s fucking rude, and I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Ian insisted. “It’s not your fault people suck, and it’s not your fault I can’t take the heat. I’m gonna do better, though. I wanna be with you Mick, and this is part of that. It’s not fun, you’re right, but I’m in it, and I can handle it.” Ian smiled, wanting Mickey to know he was serious. 

Just talking to Mickey about it made the anxiety unwind in his chest. The other man always knew just what to say to relax him. It was a wonder to Ian. He’s known Mickey for a few months, and already he seems to understand Ian better than people he’s known his whole life. 

“You mean that?” Mickey asks, eyes wide. He couldn’t help the bright smile on his face as he stared at Ian in wonder. 

“Mean what?” Ian replied, cocking his head to the side as Mickey reached up to thread his fingers through Ian’s hair once more. 

“You wanna be with me?” Mickey asks, still smiling like an asshole. He just can’t help it. He’s wanted Ian since the start, but he didn’t want to push. He’d been so careful to keep it casual, knowing he went about it backward. He’s never tried to date anyone before, never had a real boyfriend. And he’d been scared to throw them into some kind of booty call limbo. He jumped right into fucking with Ian, and when Mickey discovered he wanted more, he was so terrified to push. Ian was so god damn gun shy as it is. So Mickey had been more careful than he’d ever been in his life. Going out of his way to actually court Ian. (if that’s even what it’s called anymore. Mandy insisted that’s what he’s doing, but the word makes him feel like Ian is some turn of the century maiden, and he’s some society gentleman with a devious streak. All very Harlequin Romance, if you ask him.) He’s been taking him out, but never pushing for more than the tender kisses they share at the end of the evening. He’d hoped his intentions would have been clear, but Ian had given him no indication that he was on the same page. 

To hear Ian say it now was doing unhealthy things to Mickey’s heart. 

“Mick, of course I do.” Ian smiled, tilting his head to the side. “I thought it was obvious. I’m not seeing anyone else. Haven’t been on any dates with anyone but you since the first time we went out.” Ian’s smile faltered, a shadow passing over his face. “Are you? Still seeing other people?” 

“What?” Mickey balked, eyebrows high on his forehead. “When would I have the time? Between seeing you, my show, and all the god damn charity work, I barely have time to shower. You think I could sneak in a whole other fuckbuddy?” 

“So we’re fuckbuddies now?” Ian asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Mickey clamored off Ian’s lap and threw himself down on the sofa. Shit. Are they about to fight? 

“No, Ian. Of course not. What I'm trying and failing to say is that there is no one else. I’m dating you, Ian. And even if we’re not exclusive, I’m not really the kinda guy to juggle a bunch of dudes at once. What about you?” 

Ian laughed, shaking his head. “No. Definitely not. I don’t want anyone else either. Just you.” 

Mickey smiled, his heart aching in the most wonderful way. He was feeling emboldened in a way only Ian could instigate. So he said the first thing that came to mind. “You wanna be exclusive?” 

Ian gaped at him, reaching out before he could think better of it. His hand landed on Mickey’s knee, sending sparks shooting up Ian’s arm. “Exclusive. Like boyfriends?” 

“Sure.” Mickey replied, laying his hand atop Ian’s. He let his thumb slide over the back of Ian’s hand, just a simple touch meant so much to him. It was so strange, but Mickey liked the feeling. "So, you wanna do it?" 

Ian nodded, mouth hanging open. He did not anticipate this turn of events at all. How someone as amazing as Mickey could want Ian as his boyfriend was mind boggling. 

Ian may be crazy, but he is not stupid. “Yeah, Mick. I really wanna be your boyfriend.” 

“So, that’s it, then. Boyfriends. Me and you.” Mickey decided with a curt nod. 

“Yeah.” Ian agreed dreamily. 

That escalated quickly. 

“Okay then.” Mickey replied, smirking as he threw himself back into Ian’s lap. He buried his knees into the couch cushions on either side of Ian’s hips, gripping Ian by the back of the head. “Can we fool around now? My dick has been half hard for way too long, and my balls are starting to ache.” 

Ian giggled, running his hands along Mickey’s delectable ass. Even in jeans, it was heaven to touch. “Yeah, we can.” Ian leaned in, Mickey meeting him half way. In the second before their lips met, Ian spoke again, causing Mickey to pull back the slightest bit. 

“So, is it official?” he asks, nerves evident in his tone. “Are we really together now?” 

“Jesus, Ian.” Mickey groaned, leaning their foreheads together. “Yeah. We are. Fucking super exclusive, official boyfriends, okay? You happy now?” he was smiling so wide, his mouth hurt. 

“Happy?” Ian huffed, biting his lip. “Yeah, Mick. I’m pretty fucking happy.” 

Mickey chuckled darkly, finally closing the distance between them. Ian’s mouth is soft and warm. Mickey wastes no time slipping his tongue into Ian’s mouth. He tastes like ice cream and Mickey shivers at the sweetness of his lips. 

Ian’s grip on his ass is just the perfect side of painful and Mickey groans into his open mouth. Ian gives a feral growl in return and Mickey shivers even harder. His dick is now throbbing in his jeans, aching for some friction, but Ian seems content to just grind against him, using the iron grip on his hips to rock Mickey’s ass against the rigid line of his dick. 

Mickey rips his mouth away, throwing his head back and moaning at the ceiling. Ian takes this as an invitation to latch onto his neck. Mickey stutters out an unsteady breath at the feeling of Ian’s teeth sinking into his neck. Ian seals his lips over the indentation of his teeth and sucks. Hard. 

Mickey’s cock jumps in his pants at the hot sting of pain that shoots down his spine. He whines embarrassingly loud, grinding his ass down on Ian’s dick. 

Ian unlatches from Mickey’s neck with a wet pop. A surge of possessive pride burns in his belly at the sight of the hickey he left behind. 

“God, you mark up so easily.” Ian mused, appreciating his handiwork. “I just wanna cover you in hickies, so everyone knows you’re mine.” 

Mickey laughed, rolling his hips. “Possessive fucker.” 

“Damn right I am.” Ian agreed easily, pushing Mickey backwards a bit so he could get to his zipper. “Get your cock out, I’m about to show you who owns it.” 

A shiver shot down Mickey’s spine at Ian’s words. Holy shit. Ian the shy, unsure accountant has left the building, leaving only Ian, Covert Sex God in his wake. 

God, how did he get so lucky? This gorgeous, smart man was his? Ian had his issues, everyone does. Mickey has enough baggage to fill a storage unit. But this amazing man wanted to share his baggage with Mickey. 

And his dick, which Mickey was honestly more interested in at the moment. 

He shuffled backwards a bit on Ian’s lap and went for his fly. His hands were trembling a little, but he ignored it. This was not the first time he’s found himself in a sexual situation with his incredibly sexy neighbor. 

His incredibly sexy boyfriend! Fuck! 

So Mickey should be cool. Calm and collected. 

But he’s not. 

He’s riled up and desperate. And that feels good too. 

He ripped his zipper down, reaching his hand into his ridiculously tight jeans and pulling out his cock. Once it was free, he breathed a sigh of relief. It only lasted a moment before Ian was gripping him by the back of the head and drawing him into an all-consuming kiss. 

Mickey had totally missed the fact that Ian had taken his dick out too, so lost in his own head that he missed the glorious moment that beast was revealed to the world once more. He tried to glance down at it, but Ian’s grip on his face was too tight. 

“Eyes on me, Mick.” Ian muttered, running his tongue along Mickey’s bottom lip. “Lemme take care of you.” 

Mickey whimpered, nodding. Ian’s hand left his face, instead wrapping tightly around his waist, pulling him so close their chests touched. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” Ian said, his free hand trailing down Mickey’s chest, ghosting over his hip. He’s not sure where all this confidence is coming from. Maybe it’s just Mickey. His easy way with Ian. Mickey makes Ian feel like he’s good. Like he’s right just the way he is. Like there is nothing wrong with him. Mickey makes Ian feel sexy and dominant in a way he hasn’t since before his diagnosis. 

And after all the bullshit with the show and the people hitting on Mickey, and what their stupid neighbor said, Ian’s ready to stake his claim. 

Mickey is his. And everyone else can fuck right off. 

With that thought in mind, he gripped his own cock and gave it one long, slow stroke. Mickey’s eyes drank in the motion, his dick was twitching against his stomach, hard and leaking, begging for attention. 

Ian shot Mickey a feral smirk, kissing him harshly on the mouth, spitting in his palm before shoving his hand under Mickey’s chin. “Spit.” he commanded. Mickey raised his eyebrows, smirking, before doing as he was told. He leaned up a tiny bit and spat right into the center of Ian’s palm. Ian grinned wickedly as he bowed his body over Mickey’s, throwing him down on the couch. Ian groaned, grasping both their dicks in his big hand. Mickey's back hit the couch cushions, all the air expelling from his lungs in a huff. But none of that mattered, since Ian was now looming over him, cradling both their cocks in one of his massive hands. 

“Oh, fuck.” Mickey whimpered, resting his forehead against Ian’s. “Feels good.” 

“I’m gonna wreck you.” Ian replied with a dirty smile, before kissing Mickey hard on the mouth, just as his hips began to move. He wasn’t even jerking them off, he just held both their dicks in a tight fist, fucking his hips into his hold. Mickey writhed beneath him, rocking up as much as he could, pinned beneath Ian. 

“God, you are amazing.” Ian groaned, pumping his hips faster. His free hand snaked down under Mickey’s body, gripping his ass tightly, pulling Mickey into each of his thrusts. Mickey groaned, wishing there were less clothes involved. He couldn’t even wrap his legs around Ian’s waist, still trapped in his jeans. 

But all of those conscious thoughts flew right out the window as Ian’s thrusts became stilted and erratic. Mickey moaned, throwing his head back. Ian latched onto the exposed skin of his throat, biting harshly as he rocked them together. 

“Feel good, Mick?” Ian huffed, grinding their bodies together. “Cuz it feels fucking amazing to me. Can’t wait to fuck you again. God, you’re gorgeous.” He was aware he was babbling, but couldn’t stop himself. “Love touching you. Love being inside that gorgeous ass. Fuck. You’re goddamn perfect, Mick.” 

“Ian, fuck.” Mickey moans, feeling utterly debauched. How this man can reduce him to such a state with a garden variety teenaged rutting session, Mickey has no idea. But it’s fucking working. His balls are aching and that tell-tale tingle is shooting up his spine. He groans, his body trembling as he comes hard all over their stomachs. 

“Oh god.” Ian sighed, his eyes trained on Mickey dick as it shot all over his hand and Mickey’s heaving chest. Ian dropped their dicks and ground down against Mickey’s hips, rutting his leaking cock against Mickey's sweat-soaked hip. Mickey whimpered, over stimulated and sensitive, but Ian is making the most delicious noises, and that is more important than the sticky, tender sensation in Mickey’s groin. 

Mickey grips Ian’s ass in both hands, pulling them together tightly and rocking his hips up. Ian moans loudly, tucking his head into Mickey’s neck as his hips jolt and he comes hard all over Mickey’s stomach. 

Ian collapses on top of Mickey, heedless of the cooling come splattered all over them both. Mickey runs his fingers through Ian’s sweaty hair, pressing his lips to the side of Ian’s face. Ian hums happily, the gravity of the situation settling on him in a euphoric haze. 

“Boyfriend.” Ian mutters into Mickey’s neck nonsensically. He hears Mickey giggle, probably laughing at him, but he can’t be bothered to care. 

Never in a million years did he see this night panning out like this. The idea that someone like Mickey would want Ian to be his, well, that’s just insane. 

But Ian trusts Mickey, trusts his judgement. And if he thinks Ian is so damn great, Ian’s gonna work to see himself that way too. He wants to be the man Mickey sees in him. He wants to be that and more. Give Mickey everything, be everything for him. 

He wants to deserve him. 

And even if he’s not sure he does right now, he’s going to get there. 

He won’t let Mickey slip through his fingers. 

“We should clean up.” Mickey sighs, his fingers still gently carding through Ian’s sweaty hair. 

“One more minute.” Ian replies quietly, snuggling into Mickey’s sticky chest, uncaring that it’s starting to chafe between their stomachs. “Just wanna...just stay.” 

“Okay, kid.” Mickey sighs, and Ian can hear the smile in his voice. Ian hums happily, feeling more content than he has in years. 

*** 

Ian has no idea how they passed out, but when he comes to, he’s still laying on top of Mickey. They are both still half dressed, and there is dry come covering both their chests. Ian grimaces, pulling back and sitting up on the other end of the sofa. He tucks his dick back into his pants, ignoring the pull of dried come on his pubes. 

The motion must have woken Mickey, because he groans, throwing a hand over his eyes. “Gross.” he mutters, eliciting a chuckle from Ian. 

Ian’s phone is ringing. Huh, that must’ve been what woke him. He grabs it off the coffee table, checking the display. 

Beside him, Mickey sits up, buttoning his jeans with a grimace. “Need a shower.” 

Ian hums in agreement, but is a bit distracted by his phone. “Um, Cal’s calling.” 

“What the fuck does he want at....” Mickey glances at Ian’s kitchen clock. “Fucking midnight?” 

“Only one way to find out.” Ian replied, swiping his finger over the touch screen. Mickey nods, standing from the couch and wandering into the kitchen. Ian watches him go, drinking in his glorious body as he walked away before putting the phone to his ear. “Hey Cal, what’s up? It’s kinda late.” 

“You tell me, Mr. Gallagher.” Cal’s voice filtered over the line. Ian can tell right away something was up. Cal sounds downright gleeful. 

That is never a good sign. 

Ian can also hear Teddy screaming in the background. “Calvin! You get off that phone right now, and mind your own god damn business.” 

Ian’s eyebrows shot up as he listened to his neighbors bicker. 

This was strange indeed. 

“Oh honey, you’re adorable.” Cal replied. “It’s all over twitter. It’s everyone’s business now.” 

“Not the point!” Teddy called back. Ian can tell he’s right in front of Cal now, probably poking him in the chest. “They are our friends and neighbors. This is not appropriate.” 

“Oh, calm down.” Cal shot back, giggling. “Let me gossip. You know this is what I live for.” 

“Um, hello? Cal?” Ian was feeling more like a spectator than a participant in this conversation, growing more confused by the second. 

“Is that really fucking Cal?” Mickey asks, dropping down next to Ian on the couch. He laid his head on Ian’s shoulder. “Tell him it’s too fucking late for his drama.” 

“Oh god!” Cal squealed. “Is that Mickey? Is he there now? Teddy! Baby! It's true!” 

Ian and Mickey exchanged a glance before Ian spoke again. “Cal, man. It’s late. What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“You! Ian Gallagher, who’s managed to hook the sexiest DJ in the entire continental United States. - Oh, hush baby, you think Mick’s sexy as fuck too.” 

“Cal, Cal.” Ian groaned, rubbing his forehead as Mickey giggled next to him. “What are you on about?” 

“Your date with Mickey tonight. It’s all over social media. You two are totes adorbs, btw.” 

“What the fuck?” Mickey balked, still listening at Ian’s shoulder. Ian turned to him, shrugging. “Was that even english?” 

“How should I know?” Ian replies, frustrated. “It’s Cal.” 

Just then, Ian heard rustling on the phone, followed buy cursing and what sounded like a physical struggle. “Give me the phone, Calvin. And don’t you dare touch that bottle of wine. You are cut off!” 

Ian and Mickey chuckled, gaping at each other in astonishment. 

Then, they heard Teddy’s much calmer voice in their ears. “Hey Ian, Mickey. Sorry about that. My dear Cal has gone a bit heavy on the Cabernet tonight. What he was trying to say was that we follow Mickey on twitter, and he’s been tagged in a bunch of photos of the two of you. Cozying up outside the Lyons Theater, from the looks of it. Twitter is saying here...." he paused to read, and both men stopped short. 

Oh no. 

"'Mad Dog Mick's new man throws down with two women outside local Chicago hot spot. Hot blooded ginger does not like to share.'- The entire internet is losing their shit. ‘Mad Dog Mick and his hot new boytoy guard dog....’ -- that’s the one I’m reading right now. So, we were just wondering, is it true? Are you guys challenging us for cutest gay couple in the complex?” Teddy’s voice was teasing. You could clearly hear his smile through the phone. 

Mickey chuckled at Ian’s massive eye roll. “We’d never try to unseat you two. We’re completely unworthy of such praise.” 

Teddy laughed. “You hear that, honey? Your tiara is safe. No one’s coming for you.” 

“Good!” Cal hollered. “I’d hate to ruin my manicure kicking Mickey’s ass." 

Mickey threw his head back, laughing at the ceiling. “Kid, if we ever came to blows, I’d snap your scrawny ass like a twig. There’d be no twerking in your future for a good six months.” 

“Oh god.” Teddy sighed over the line. “Please don’t get him started. He’ll want me to defend his honor. And no matter how much I love him, I’m not taking my chances in a fight with two honest to god south side brawlers.” 

Ian and Mickey laughed. It was true, after all. They destroy both of them without breaking a sweat. 

Not that they ever would. Cal and Teddy were friends. And friends were hard to come by in life. 

There was another rustling on the line, and Cal was back, whiny and petulant. “But it’s true, right? Please, please, please, tell me it’s true? You’re together now? I can’t take it anymore. You gotta be. You guys are adorable together.” 

“Enough.” Mickey spat, voice hard. The room fell silent. Ian was staring at him, wide eyed and nervous. Teddy and Cal could be heard chastising each other quietly on the other end of the line. “Listen, Teddy, Cal....” Mickey took a deep breath, settling his thoughts. “You should know better than to take the internet as fucking gospel.” 

Ian deflated. After everything they said to each other tonight, Mickey was going to deny their relationship at the very first hint of pressure? 

Oh god. 

Ian felt like he was drowning. 

But then Mickey smiled at him, and he had hope for a moment. 

“Twitter is a fucking cesspool of gossip and lies.” Ian’s heart shattered. The denial felt so much worse when he was sitting right there... “ He didn't throw down with those girls, and I don't like how the gossip sights are trying to paint him as some unhinged, jealous asshole. Ian is so fucking important to me." and Ian's heart just about exploded. His ping-ponging emotions are going to give him a stroke. But Mickey wasn't done. "Ian is so much more that the god damn internet is saying. And if either of you tease Ian about this shit, I’m not gonna be nice about it. He doesn’t like to be the center of attention. Either of you make my boyfriend feel uncomfortable, and we’re gonna have real problems, okay?” Mickey laid down he law, grinning at Ian the entire time. 

Ian could hear Cal and Teddy babbling on the other end of the line, but it was all just background noise to him. 

Mickey had called him his boyfriend, to their friends. He’d defended Ian and promised to protect him. Protected him against their harmless neighbors. But what about the wider world? 

Ian has no idea what kind of damage has been done. Those drunk bitches seem to have been spending their night posting bullshit while Ian and Mickey were none the wiser. Ian doesn't know shit about public personas or social media followings. But he's seemed to have dropped himself in the middle of a twitter war.

Ian doesn't have the first clue what to do with that. So he just ends the call, tossing his phone on the coffee table before tackling Mickey back to the couch. 

Ian covers Mickey with his whole body. Mickey wraps Ian in his arms. Close. Safe. Happy. 

“So the word’s out.” Mickey mumbled, kissing Ian’s hair. 

“Yeah, guess it is.” Ian replies, nuzzling his face into Mickey’s neck. “We’re gonna be okay, though, yeah?” 

“’Course we are.” Mickey replied immediately. “Whatever happens, we’ve got this. We’ll do whatever you want. Stay private, go public. Make an announcement on the show. Anything you want, I promise.” 

“I....” Ian faltered, losing himself in the feeling of Mickey’s fingers absentmindedly trailing up and down his back. “I just want you to want me.” he finally confessed. The words made him feel open and exposed, but Mickey just held him tighter. Ian really didn’t care what the internet had to say. Or their neighbors, or random assholes on the street. He just wanted Mickey to want to be with him. Simple enough. Another kiss to his hair made Ian’s insides all warm. 

“I want you to want me too, Ian.” Mickey replied. And that was that. 

They held each other close until they fell asleep on the couch. Nothing else mattered right now. Not the show or the fans. Not their nosy neighbors or god damn twitter. The rest of the world could wait. 

This was all they needed, right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJs_L7yq5qE
> 
> the title from this song came from one of my favorite songs. cheap trick is the shit. check 'em out. <3


	3. Don't come around here no more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey has a work event and the gang's all there. Things are going really well, until they aren't. Seems like Mickey and Ian both have some unwanted fans in their lives, and life gets complicated really quick. Ian's just not sure he's equipped to handle all this. But then, he remembers, he doesn't have to go it alone...
> 
> Title taken from the Tom Petty song Don't Come around here no more. another old favorite. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h0JvF9vpqx8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. i know it's been a minute, but my birthday was earlier this month and i've been busy. between celebrating life and miserably hating everything, it's been a bit of a time for me. but! brightside: i got a new laptop and my fan fic productivity is back up to snuff. i'm actually working on a few stories, this being one of them. 
> 
> thanks for your patience. hope this chapter makes up for my tardiness.

Ian is feeling....anxious. That’s not all that new, but it is in this situation. He’s standing on the side of the road in fucking Mount Prospect, Illinois, hands stuffed in his pockets, head down. He knows this is important to Mickey, but he wishes he could have done this from the Chicago side. Mount Prospect is...not Chicago. It’s small and quaint and all the shit Ian wants nothing to do with. 

But this is the end of Mickey’s charity ride, so Ian wants to be here. 

Mad Dog Mick in the Morning has an annual motorcycle ride every spring. It starts in Chicago, winding its way through the Illinois back roads, ending in Mount Prospect about two and a half hours later. At the finish line there is a small springtime festival, despite the holiday themed charity. (Ian supposes it’s never too early to start raising money for needy kids’ Christmas. 

At least the weather’s nice. The late spring air is warm, and the sun is shining down through a cluster of low-hanging clouds. Ian’s not used to being so close to nature. It’s not like Mount Prospect is in the sticks, but it’s clearly not the big city. The streets are lined with tall trees, buds of news leaves just sprouting from their limbs. Ian snuggles into his jean jacket, stuffing his hands deeper in his pockets as he turns his face towards the finish line again. He’s got sunglasses on, as well as the hood of his sweatshirt and a Cubs hat. He feels very incognito, like a super hero or a spy. The reality of the situation is frankly more embarrassing. 

He’s desperate to not be recognized by any more of Mickey’s decidedly insane fans. 

This charity ride is Theresa’s brain child. The station chooses a new charity every year. They’ve done Wounded Warriors, the shelter where Mickey got his dog, homelessness awareness as well as Hope for Tomorrow, a non-profit drug rehab that helped one of Mickey’s cousins beat a years-long heroin addiction. 

But this year was all Theresa. 

On one of their impromptu coffee/brainstorming ‘dates’, Theresa had mentioned to Mickey that back when she was south side poor, Toys for Tots was often integral in supplying her son Kurt with Christmas gifts during her leaner years. Ian can relate. He has his own distinct memories of getting wrapped gifts with tags that read ‘Boy: Age 6-9' on it for several years in a row. 

Of course, Mickey’s family had never even bothered to sign up for the program. So Mickey doesn’t even have any good charity Christmas memories. 

It honestly breaks Ian’s heart. 

But that’s why they’re here today. To make the holidays a little brighter for kids like Ian and Mickey used to be. And Ian can certainly get behind that. He brought a whole bag of gifts, for boys and girls from all the age groups. He works hard, and he makes good money. So why shouldn’t he give back now? 

Mickey’s honestly an inspiration. All the charity work he does through the station is amazing. Warms Ian’s heart. So of course Ian wants to be part of it. 

Which is how he found himself standing on the side of the road in Mount Prospect on a Saturday afternoon in late April, dodging Mad Mick Superfans to begin with. 

Ian knows Cal and Teddy are around here somewhere. He'd seen them with their own massive bag of gifts for the donation bin. Ian can’t help but smile. Teddy makes amazing money as a human rights lawyer, and the couple’s charitable donations are always in the thousands every year. 

They are Ian’s only clients who don’t donate to charity for the tax deduction. They do it because they sincerely want to help. Ian respect the hell outta that. 

Ian is thinking about maybe going in search of Teddy and Cal. He was chatting with Theresa, but she took Trent over to the parked food trucks to get some tacos, so Ian is just standing alone by the finish line, surrounded on all sides by throngs of Mickey’s fans. 

After Ian’s most recent experiences with Mad Dog’s fan club, Ian is very keen on avoiding another confrontation like that. 

He stands there, in solitary quiet for an indeterminate amount of time, before a low, melodious voice drew him from his thoughts. He is on edge before he even turns around. 

“So you're Mick’s new boy toy, huh? I have to say, I'm impressed.” 

The words wash over Ian like a bucket of ice water. Ian flinches, hunching his shoulders. 

He should have known better. It was stupid to come here, to Mickey’s event. After all the shit that has happened over the past few weeks, Ian should have known Mickey’s rabid fans wouldn’t let him be. His picture’s been all over twitter, all over Instagram and Facebook. 

Mad Dog Mick’s new boy toy. 

That’s what they call him on the internet. 

#MadDog’sGingerDick 

#Mick’sboytoy 

#angrygingersexgod #hotbloodedfuckboi #Mick’sredhotdick 

It never ends. It’s gotten so bad, Ian hasn’t been online except to check his work emails in almost a week. 

He feels less-than under the scrutiny of Mickey’s fans. Like he’s a big joke, or a passing phase. 

Like he’s some plaything to fuck with then discard. 

Ian rounds on the newcomer, blood up, ready to brawl. “That’s what they tell me. And who the fuck are you?” he growled, only mildly surprised to find a slight, smirking girl before him. 

Mickey’s tiny girl fans are the most brutal. The rudest, the most bloodthirsty. Like they had any claim to Mickey. Like it was their job to defend him. Like any of them had a chance with Mickey if they could only get Ian out of the way. 

It was fucking ridiculous, and Ian was frankly already sick of it. 

Ian was ready to throw down, no matter the interloper’s size. He won’t be talked down to by anyone. Especially not some slip of a girl six inches shorter than him. 

The girl just smirks some more, waggling her eyebrows in a way that oddly reminds him of Mickey. She’s wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and skinny jeans. Giant sunglasses adorn her face, so Ian has no way to discern her expression. 

“I’m Mandy.” 

*** 

Mickey grinned as he watched the finish line come into view. It had been a long ride, and he was ready to get off his bike and get a beer in his hand. He had a driver ready to take him back to the city, and he was intent on letting his hair down. 

Well, as much as he could at a work event. 

He revved his engine as he got closer to the big archway that spanned the end of the ride. A banner hung in front of the archway, reading “WROX Ride for Toys 4 Tots.” Mickey smirked as he crossed the finish line to a gaggle of his adoring public. They’d raised a ton of money for the charity today, and Mickey couldn’t be happier. 

Scratch that. He was infinitely happier when he caught sight of Ian at the finish line, waving like the nerdy dork he is. Mickey smiled, moving to wave back when he caught sight of Ian’s companion. 

God damn it. 

He’d been cautiously optimistic that Mandy wouldn’t bother to show up today. Stupid, really. The two things Mandy reveled in most was supporting Mickey, and embarrassing him. If she’s gotten her hooks into Ian, she’s accomplished her goal and then some. 

Mickey pulled over and parked his bike, next to the trailer that would bring it back to the city after the event. He wanted to go right over and put a stop to whatever nefarious plan Mandy was in the middle of, but he was still on the clock, so he gave them both a wary little wave and made his way over to the On Air set up the station had at the center of the festival grounds. 

Fitzy smirked, tucking his thumbs into his queer suspenders. “Hey Mick, you made good time. Better than three quarters of the participants.” Fitzy moved to a leader-board and scribbled down Mickey’s time. The faster he finished the ride, the more money his benefactors would donate to the cause. If his math is correct, he just raised five grand for Toys for Tots. 

Not a bad showing for a few hours on his bike. Like riding was a hardship anyway. 

Sometimes Mickey can't believe how good his life turned out. 

Those sentimental thoughts got put on the back burner when he came face to face with Lexi. Standing by the radio booth with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked ridiculous, in Mickey’s opinion. Red leather pants and a billowy black silk shirt, crazy tall black heels and a face full of hooker make-up. 

But whatever, how she dressed doesn’t matter to Mickey, her shit attitude does. 

Mickey sat down at his mic without sparing her a second glance, he waved to Fitzy and after the last notes of a classic Green Day song played, Fitzy tripped the ON AIR sign and Mickey was live. 

“Hey, this is Mad Dog Mick, coming to you from the fifth annual Ride for a Cause. We’re broadcasting live from the end of the ride, coming at you from scenic Mount Prospect Illinois. I just wrapped up my ride, raising five grand for kids in need. If you haven’t donated yet, you can still help. On WROX’s website, you can find a list of Toys for Tots boxes. You can donate as many unwrapped gifts as you want. Or you can donate cash, if that’s more your thing. All the info can be found at www.maddogonwrox.com, or on my twitter feed, At Mad dog Mick. If you do donate, take a pic for me and put it up with the hashtag ‘giving back with Mad Dog’. Let’s see if we can make Christmas better for the kids of Chicago, yeah?” Mickey took a breath, smiling over at Fitzy, who always got overly emotional when Mickey talked about charity work. He’s beaming at Mickey with legitimately misty eyes. 

Pussy. 

“Alright, we’ll be back soon with an interview with the Amy Lee, the head volunteer of the Chicago branch of Toys for Tots, until then, here’s some Megadeath. Not sure how that puts you in the giving mood, but it’ll at least get your blood pumping.” Mickey chuckles as he flips off the ‘ON AIR’ switch and sits back in his seat. 

Just then, Kenny and Lexi wander over. Mickey nods, standing up. “I set you two up for the next twenty minutes. Fitzy’s got the playlist, just run your mouths about the ride ‘til l get back to interview that Lee chick. I’m gonna go find my boyfriend.” Mickey’s already glancing around the assembled crowd in search of Ian. He promised he’d be close by the booth. 

“Real professional, Milkovich.” Lexi sighs. “Leaving the booth to go find your bitch.” 

“Watch your mouth.” Mickey glowers. Kenny and Fitzy both sigh. 

“Alexis, we talked about this.” Fitzy murmurs, anxiously dicking with his tie again. “That’s dangerously close to hate speech, and I can’t allow it.” 

“Lighten up, dude.” Lexi groan, rolling her eyes. “I don’t mean it in a queer way. The guy looks like a legitimate bitch.” 

“How do you figure, Lex?” Kenny chuckles, surprising Mickey. “Dude’s like six-foot six worth of pure muscle. The only reason you like calling him Mickey’s bitch is cuz he’s gay. And we all know it.” 

Lexi huffs, but doesn’t answer. She pulls her headphones on and starts reading through the script for the next few bits her and Kenny are responsible for while Mickey’s off air. 

Mickey rolls his eyes, shooting Kenny and Fitzy a grateful smile as he leaves the booth behind and makes his way down the little causeway of the charity run’s mini-fair. 

Mickey tries to shake off the shitty barbs Lexi tossed his way on the way out. He’d hoped she’d get it out of her system after a few weeks on the show, but she seems to be only growing snippier and meaner. Mickey can take the heat. He’s Chicago famous and as gay as the day is long. He’s heard it all before, and kicked ass for much less. 

But not only is she a woman (he’d never hit a girl, it’s just not cool) but she’s also a co-worker. Tobias put his ass on the line to poach her from Rock Nation, and Mickey is not about to let some petty, unprofessional squabble fuck up his show or Tobias’s job. 

Mickey might think Toby’s a tool, but he’s always been good to Mickey. 

So Mickey will give Lexi a bit of leeway, see if she settles down on her own before he is forced to make a ruckus. But....if she keeps going after Ian for no good reason, Mickey won’t play nice anymore. 

Mickey sighs again, running his fingers through his hair. He needs to see Ian. Ian always calms him down after a catty argument with Alexis. 

Mickey walks up and down the rows of food trucks and cheap carnival games, keeping his eyes peeled for a shock of red hair. He starts to get frustrated about five minutes later. He doesn’t have long before he has to get back on the air, and if he doesn't at least get to touch Ian for a second, he may just blow up on Lexi after all... 

Just as he’s about to say ‘fuck it’ and stomp back over to the booth to bicker more with his co-host, he hears Ian’s voice over the din of revelers. 

Mickey turns on his heel, tossing his sunglasses on top of his head so he can see better. 

There he is. 

Mickey smiles to himself, making his way over. His smile fades when he sees who Ian’s talking to. 

Not only are Teddy and Cal crowding Ian like a pair of flaming queen fan-boys, his fucking sister is slouching next to his boyfriend, clearly giving Ian the third degree. 

Fucking wonderful. 

Mickey makes his way over, doing his best not to shove any old ladies or little kids as he worms his way through the congested crowd in front of a falafel truck. He finally squeezes by a biker in his mid-sixties, wearing an American flag bandanna and an old military green vest covered in grateful dead patches, ending up right in front of Ian. 

Just in time to hear his sister say “So who tops? Cuz I know Mick’s got his whole ‘bad ass vibe’ going, but you’re built like every Dom I’ve ever seen in any porno, so...” 

“Don’t fucking answer that.” Mickey barks, finally landing next to Ian. He’s actually sweating, and a bit out of breath. That causeway is no joke. 

Ian chuckles, throwing an arm over Mickey’s shoulder. He smiles down and Mickey and Mickey raises his eyebrows in a way he hopes is threatening. But with the way Ian’s beaming at him, he probably missed the mark. 

“Mick, if you’d let me finish, I was about to tell your sister that her antiquated gay stereotypes are funny, but ultimately based in fallacy.” 

“Uh, did you read that off a website?” Mandy balks, giving her brother a disbelieving look. “Where did you find this guy again?” 

“Actually, Mandy, Ian is part of a group of ours.” Teddy interjects, and Mickey loves him a bit in that moment for taking Mandy’s attention off Ian. He adores his sister, but she can come off pretty strong when meeting new people. 

He doesn’t want to scare Ian away, skittish as he is. 

“Oh?” Mandy replies, eyes dancing with mischief. “And what group would that be?” 

Mickey sighs, rolling his eyes. Now that she got them started, Teddy and Cal aren’t gonna shut up about it. 

“Oh Mandy, you should come!’” Cal squeals, delighted. “It’s the Chicago chapter of LGTBQIA International.” 

Teddy rolls his eyes, a fond look on his face, but Mandy just gapes at him. 

“Uh, what?” Mandy looks perplexed. Mickey feels her pain. 

Cal’s already off on a tangent about his Gay ETC. support/rights/fundraising group. He’s gesticulating wildly, going on and on about Drag Queen Story Hour and Pride and Teen Outreach. 

Mickey takes advantage of the distraction and pulls Ian aside. He grabs Ian by the back of the head and pulls him down into a deep kiss. He tries to keep it PG, since he’s at a work event, but it’s hard. He feels Ian’s hands on his hips, gripping him tight. He digs his fingers into Ian’s hair, shoving his tongue into his mouth. Ian hums, kissing back eagerly. 

Mickey pulls back long before he’s ready to, shooting his boyfriend a sly grin as he pulls away. Ian doesn’t let him get far, his grip still tight on Mickey’s hips. 

“Hey.” Mickey says, disgusted with how syrupy-fond his voice sounds. “Can’t stick around, gotta get back, just wanted to say hi. You gonna be around after the show wraps?” 

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving without you.” Ian replies, still smiling. “You’re sister’s nice.” Ian had no idea Mandy was even going to be at the event. Mickey hadn’t told him. Not that he minds, it’s just a heads up would have been nice. Ian has never met Mandy, and since she’s one of the few members of Mickey’s family that Mickey’s even on speaking terms with, Ian wanted to make a good impression. 

Now, he can’t tell if he did that. He had no time to prepare, caught totally off guard. He probably fucked it up. He totally did. Oh god, Mandy probably hates him. 

Mickey must read his anxiety in his face, because he just grins, shaking his head. 

“Hey.” Mickey knocks their foreheads together. “Quit overthinking. I’m sure she likes you just fine. Not that it should matter, she’s a bitch anyway.” Mickey says, but he’s smiling. Ian can tell he doesn’t mean a word of that. 

“I just....” Ian starts, but Mickey quiets him with another quick kiss. “Shh.” he mutters, their lips still touching. “It’s fine.” 

Ian nods, and even though Mickey can tell Ian’s still worried, he pats him gently on the face and grabs his hand, pulling him back toward the little group, who are still talking about LGTB groups around the city. 

“Listen, I gotta get back to work.” Mickey tells them all, but he’s still looking at Ian. “I’ve got a car to take us back to the city after, Ian.” 

“What about your bike?” 

“There’s a trailer that’s gonna take my bike and Kenny’s bike back for us. We don’t need to worry about that. You wanna stay at mine tonight?” 

“Yeah.” Ian breathes, and his smiles, incredibly, grows wider. 

“What about me, Mick?” Mandy interjects. Mickey turns around to find her smirking at him, arms crossed over her chest, eyeing Ian hungrily. “When do I get to spend quality time with this specimen of gay man meat?” 

“Ew, what the fuck, Mands, don’t call him that.” Mickey grouses, grimacing. Mandy cackles like the witch she is, still smirking. 

“Well, we were gonna...kind of have a dinner party next Friday?” Ian says, unsure if he should say anything. Mickey rounds on him, eyes wide, and Ian almost takes it back. Until Cal butts in, like he always does. 

“Yes! Ian invited Teddy and I over for dinner. I think Theresa is going to be there too. Mostly just friends from the building, but you are most welcome to join us.” 

“Oh really?” Mandy asks, that evil, gleeful tone in her voice again. 

Mickey huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sure guys, just invite the whole damn world to my place. No big deal. Totally cool.” 

“Awe, c’mon, Mick.” Ian laughs, curling around Mickey from behind. He wraps his arms around his waist as he rests his chin on his shoulder. “What’s one more Milkovich at dinner?” 

“One step closer to a felony.” Mickey replies petulantly. He knows he’s lost, though. He could probably go up against one of them, but not his sister, his boyfriend and his crazy gay neighbors. He’s clearly outnumbered. 

They all stare at him expectantly until he wrenches out of Ian’s arms with another huff. “Fine. I’ll text you the details. Now all of you get outta my way, unlike the rest of you, I gotta work.” he turns hastily, kissing Ian almost angrily and shoving his way between Cal and Teddy to head back toward the radio booth. 

He can hear all of them laughing at him as he stalks away, but he doesn’t bother turning around, just throws a middle finger up over his shoulder and keeps walking. 

Fucking dinner parties. 

How is this his life? 

*** 

“Mick! Are you dressed yet? Come help me with this salad.” Ian hollers from the kitchen. Mickey is still in the bathroom, still in a towel, still wet from his shower. 

“No!” he calls back. “Just got outta the shower, M’still sopping wet n’naked. And what the fuck are you making a salad for?” Mickey hopes his distaste is plain in his voice. 

Salad. Gross. 

“Don’t give me that shit.” Ian calls back. “You picked steak and potatoes; I get the god damn salad.” 

Mickey smirks, finding it oddly endearing, this little domestic spat. It's so unlike him, but he doesn’t hate it. 

He does however, hate salad. 

“I’m not eating it. You can’t make me.” Mickey yells back petulantly, wrapping a towel around his waist and making his way out of the bathroom and down the hall. He casts his eyes to the side as he wanders into his bedroom. He sees Ian in his kitchen, tossing nasty greens into one of his barely-used glass bowls. Mickey smiles. He just really loves the look of Ian in his apartment. 

Mickey huffs, shaking his head at his own schmopy thoughts. He enters his bedroom, shaking out his wet hair as he goes. He sighs when he finds Diesel on his bed, snuffling in his sleep, drooling all over the god damn duvet. 

“D!” he barks. “Off the bed, you fucker.” 

Diesel’s head pops up, and he whines a bit, but ultimately huffs and lumbers off the bed, shuffling out the open bedroom door and probably making his way to the kitchen to beg Ian for food. Mickey still has to take him up to the roof to pee. The condo association put one of those doggy grass pads up there so the residents don’t have to trek down to the street every time their dogs need to relieve themselves. 

Mickey has to admit it’s one of the only good ideas the condo association has ever had. 

He adds pee time to his ‘to do’ list as he dresses quickly. He’s not sure what standard attire is for dinner parties, since he’s not a hipster or a socialite. So he just drags a gray sweater over his head, ruffling his hair with his fingers to set it straight before grabbing a pair of black jeans and pulling them up over his ass. Fuck boxers, this is his house, and the sweater hides his junk anyway. He’s not aiming to impress anyone, and the less layers between Ian and his dick the better. 

No one ever accused Mickey of not planning ahead. And he was already looking forward to getting Ian alone after this godawful dinner was over. 

“Mick? Can you come help me with the wine?” Ian calls from the kitchen. Mickey rolls his eyes. One, how the fuck do you help with wine? And two, why are they drinking wine at all when there is perfectly good whiskey in the cabinet? 

Mickey decides right then and there that dinner parties are for assholes. 

“Coming!” Mickey yells back. “Keep your damn pants on.” he adds quietly as he adjusts his sweater on his hips and hobbles toward the kitchen, trying to slip his socks on and make forward progress at the same time. 

He’s met with the sight of Ian kneeling on the floor, feeding Diesel some cheese (that’s he’s not supposed to be eating). The sight sends Mickey’s heart into a slightly lovesick arrhythmia, but he ignores it in favor of being grumpy. “Don’t feed my dog cheese. Fucks up his stomach.” 

Ian balks, looking incredibly guilty. His eyebrows draw down painfully and he moves to stand. Mickey instantly feels like an asshole. He's letting the stress of the party get to him. He won’t take his anxiety out on Ian. 

It’s not his boyfriend’s fault he hates people. 

“Ian, it’s fine.” Mickey insists. “Give him the rest of the piece. But no more after that. Binds him up real bad. You don’t wanna be standing on the sidewalk for a half hour while that drooly bastard tries to shit, trust me.” 

Ian chuckles, nodding. He kneels down again, feeding Diesel the last of the slice of muenster. “There you go boy.” he whispers. “Tasty, yeah?” 

Mickey’s heart jumps again, witnessing how much love Ian has for his dumb dog. Mickey loves Diesel so much, but it’s another thing entirely to watch his boyfriend dote on him. 

“Okay, I’m gonna take him up to pee, and when I get back, I'll help you with the wine, or whatever other faggy thing you need, okay?” Mickey says, grabbing the leash off the table. 

“You’re a faggy thing.” Ian retorts, and Mickey can’t even find it in himself to scowl. 

He is a pretty faggy thing where Ian is concerned. 

*** 

Ian is sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through twitter as he waits for Mickey to come back from the roof with Diesel. They’re not expecting any guests for another half hour or so, and dinner is not going to be ready either for a bit. So he sees no harm in checking through his socials real quick. 

It’s a mistake. 

Ian should have known. It’s only been a few days since the charity ride, and pics from the event are still fairly fresh online. Ian doesn’t remember anyone snapping pics of him and Mickey during the nanosecond they saw each other on the causeway, but there is plenty of documentation of the moment. 

Ian feels all the blood drain out of his face, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck as he watches pic after pic rolling by on his twitter feed. 

Ian with his arm around Mickey’s shoulder. Ian kissing Mickey, lots of tongue. Mickey with his hand stuffed in the back pocket of Ian’s jeans as he leans in to whisper something in his ear. 

It’s all incredibly personal, and Ian feels flayed wide open for the whole world to see. It doesn’t help that he’s actually tagged in the photos. @IanCGallagher, over and over. With those awful hashtags, and even worse mentions. 

For every single positive tweet, there are ten more that are just incredibly cruel. Vicious. 

Ian wants to cry. 

@freedomisagun: fuck this ginger faggot for turning @MadDogMick gay. 

@danzigwithmyself: @MadDogMick dump @IanCGallagher and jump on the pussy train. I'll give you a wild ride for sure. #nodickformick #powertothepussy

@myromancewithchemicals: idgaf if @MadDogMick is gay. All you homophobes can get bent. @IanCGallagher stay on that dick! #loveislove

@prezTrmP4ever: get all this queer shit off my radio! Boycott @WROX. Shame on you @MadDogMick @IanCGallagher. Repent now or BURN4EVER. #gaysmustdie 

It went on and on. 

Ian doesn’t know if he’s strong enough for this kind of negative attention. He really likes Mickey. More than likes him, honestly. But Ian’s not built for this shit. Standing up to assholes on the south side is a lot different than standing up to an entire nation of homophobes. It’s only been a few weeks and already Ian feels like he’s cracking under the pressure. 

No. 

Fuck that. 

Ian is not going to let a bunch of strangers with a case of Internet Balls fuck him up like this. Mickey is his, to keep or to lose. And he’s not gonna let any simple-minded prick on god damn twitter fuck it up for him. He'll call his therapist on Monday and work through it with her. He's not going to let social media nazis get under his skin. 

With that in mind, he put his phone on silent and places it face-down on the counter. He shakes himself out, ridding his mind of all that negative energy and moves to check the food. 

He has a dinner party starting any minute. 

Just then there is a knock on the door. Ian’s head shoots up and he pales all over again. Mickey's still not back from the roof, and now it’s left to Ian to start welcoming guests into his house. 

Fine. That’s fine. He can do this too. 

He makes his way over to the door, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he opens the door. 

‘Please be Cal and Teddy.’ he chants in his mind. ‘Please be Cal and Teddy.’ 

He swings the door open and comes face to face with a very severe looking Mandy Milkovich. 

Fuck. 

*** 

“C’mon, D.” Mickey sighed, dragging his dog down the hallway toward his apartment. “I know you hate people as much as I do, but we can’t let Ian go it alone. Mandy’s gonna scare him off for good, then who’s gonna let you cheat on your diet, you fat fuck?” 

Diesel huffed, abandoning the spot by the elevator he’d been investigating, letting Mickey lead him back toward his apartment. 

Mickey groans internally as he catches sight of Teddy and Cal walking toward his door. He likes his neighbors, he really does. He’d even go as far as to call them actual friends and not just building acquaintances. But, he’s just not a party guy. Being on the radio gives everyone this idea that you’re super social and cool. 

That is not the case at all. Mickey is grumpy music nerd who hates polite conversation and playing the part of social butterfly. He likes hanging out with Cal and Teddy, but add his sister to the mix, and all bets are off. There is no way this is gonna be a laid back evening like Mickey had hoped for. 

Good thing Ian stocked the liquor cabinet. 

Mickey becomes infinitely more wary when he notices Cal and Teddy are not alone. 

Theresa is also with them. Which, fine...okay. Theresa is cool. Ian likes, and she and Mickey work together all the time now on a variety of charity things. If Ian invited her and forgot to tell Mickey, that’s fine too. 

What's not quite fine is the two other strange women standing there like they belong. Mickey has never seen either one of them before, and Mickey’s anxiety spikes. 

New people are a big no. At least in his apartment without prior knowledge. 

Mickey wanders up to the door with Diesel in tow, clearing his throat. “Uh, hey guys.” 

Cal turns around, gleefully clapping his hands before dropping down on his knees to wrap his arms around the dog, uncaring of all the slobber. “D! How’s my big fat baby?” 

Teddy chuckles, shaking his head. “Cal, baby. We talked about this. You can’t have Mickey’s dog. C’mon, get up.” he gently pulls his husband up, heedless to the whine he emits when he is forced to relinquish his hold on the dog. “Hey Mick, we’re not early, are we?” 

“Uh, no.” Mickey replies, eyeing the strangers. “I just didn’t know we were expecting so many guests. I’m not sure Ian made enough food.” 

“Oh!” one of the women said, blushing. “We’re not staying.” 

Theresa stepped up, smiling. “Mickey, this is Nina and Jenna. They live over at 8M. They’ve just moved from Boston to join the Joffrey Ballet. I was just making plans to get drinks with them next weekend, show them around town.” 

"Welcoming committee now, Theresa?" Mickey smirked at his neighbor before turning toward the women. It's easy to tell they are dancers. Tall, lithe bodies, all their (extensively) exposed skin is porcelain white and flawless. They are both decked out in club wear, clearly intent on hitting the town. “Nice to meet you.” Mickey said to the women, taking a moment to shake both their hands. “I’m Mickey, live in 8C. And this is Diesel, my dog. Say hi, D.” 

The women don't, in fact, say hell to Diesel. They both just stare at Mickey, smirking. 

"Well aren't you a dish." Jenna says, biting her lower lip. Mickey does his best not to scowl, but he was never one for being undressed by some stranger's eyes. 

And this chick looks like she want to eat Mickey alive. 

"Jenna!" Nina giggles, blushing bright pink. "I'm so sorry. She has no filter. And you're..." she sweeps her eyes down his body, greedily soaking him up. His skin is crawling by the time she meets his eye again. She clears her throat, clearly caught out. "Well...Anyway! So nice to meet you. Maybe we'll see you around the building."

"Uh, sure." Mickey nods, secretly hoping that's not the case at all.

Seemingly detecting Mickey's diminishing patience, Diesel huffed again, pushing his paw between Teddy’s legs to scratch at the door. Mickey laughs nervously. “Guess that’s my cue to get him inside. You guys coming?” he asked his assembled neighbors before opening his door to walk inside. He tossed a wave over his shoulder to his newest set of neighbors. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you!” the women echo back, voices high and flirty. It grates on Mickey, and he’s glad to leave them on the other side of the door. 

Teddy and Cal followed him inside while Theresa finalized her plans with the newest residents of the complex. Once they’d exchanged numbers, Theresa went inside and closed the door, leaving the women in the hallway. 

“He’s hot as fuck.” Nina said, waggling her eyebrows as she sauntered off toward the elevator. “Wonder who he is.” 

“Dunno.” Jenna replied. “We did just move here from Boston. We’re not gonna know every sexy ass fucker in the city.” 

Nina giggled, nodding. “True. At least we know he’s not homophobic. He’s clearly close with Teddy and Cal. He’d fit right in with our group of friends.” Nina was already planning her future with the sexy guy she’s shared one sentence with. Jenna rolled her eyes. 

“Just cuz he’s friendly with one set of gay men doesn’t mean he’d be able to deal with the troupe of fabulous boys we have in our life.” Jenna hit the button for the elevator and leaned up against the wall to wait for the car. “Not just any straight guy can deal with a ballerina. It’s just not in their DNA. You gotta find someone refined. Someone that won’t stick out like a sore thumb on premiere night. Did you see that dog? That is not refined at all. Ew.” 

“God, Jenna, you are so stuck up.” Nina giggled again. “All I said was he’s hot. Not that I wanted to marry him or even bring him around our friends in the end. I don’t need to do any of that to hop on his dick.” 

“Slut.” Jenna laughed as the elevator arrived. The women slinked into it, hitting the button for the main floor. 

“No shame there.” Nina agreed. “And I'm gonna get what I want. I always do.” 

*** 

Mickey does his best to put the odd encounter with his new neighbors out of his head. It's not hard to do, surrounded by friends and good food on all sides. No one mentions the ballerinas once they sit down to eat, and Mickey's not going to be the one to do it, happy to forget all about Jenna and Nina. 

“Your brother couldn’t make it?” Teddy asks Ian, lifting his glass so Ian could pour him some wine. 

“Nah, he had to work. But he promised he’d be here for the next one, and he’d bring his girlfriend.” 

“And the Jenga drinking game?” Cal piped up, slicing his steak into the tiniest pieces Mickey’s ever seen. “I loooove that game.” 

“What is it?” Theresa asks, helping herself to some salad. 

As Cal explains Drunk Jenga to Theresa, Mickey turns to Mandy and Ian. He stuffs a green bean in his mouth to appease his boyfriend, washing it down with his whiskey (cuz fuck wine). “So Mands, are you quite finished interrogating my boyfriend. I’d like to keep him around. So don’t go all CIA black ops on him, please.” 

Mickey’s not quite sure when his sister became this overprotective maniac. Probably somewhere between him becoming a famous radio host and him having his first ever internet stalker. It wasn’t even that big a deal. Just some whack job that kept sending Mickey emails and calling the show. 

It was the content of the emails that was troublesome. There is something decidedly not sexy about a man saying he wants to use your blood as lube. 

But you can’t really get a restraining order against some faceless online persona. The show blocked the sender and made a police report. Then, WROX’s lawyer sent the blood fiend a cease and desist letter, and Mickey never heard from him again. 

Case closed. 

But...ever since, Mandy has been like Mickey’s one-woman security squad. She is a background checking, internet stalking, creep-detector. And even though Mickey told her not to, he’s sure Mandy did a whole work up on Ian. Which is invasive and totally unnecessary. 

Mandy scoffs, but gives Mickey a look that implies she already did her deep digging and found Ian to be legit. 

Mickey already told her that. He just glowers at her. 

After that, the conversation flows easily. Mickey is pleased to find everyone gets along great. Teddy and Cal both adore Mandy, dubbing her ‘the nice Milkovich.’ They make plans to go shopping and get their nails done, and Mickey can’t help but laugh. 

He’s just not that kind of gay. 

Ian and Theresa are in the middle of a conversation about war crimes of all things, and Mickey perks right up, cuz he’s a bit of a sicko. 

“Are we really talking about the My Lai Massacre at a dinner party?” Mickey asked, incredulous. 

“Eh, Trent has to do a report on it for school.” Theresa made a face, making her displeasure known. “It’s just so morbid for a seventeen-year-old kid.” 

“Yeah, but if you don’t learn from history, you’re doomed to repeat it.” Ian replies darkly. 

“Yeah, I mean, look at that dude that killed all those civilians in....” Mickey tapered off when he noticed how green Ian looked. Maybe it was time for a topic change. He clears his throat, running his fingers through his hair. “So anyway, Theresa and I were talking about doing a WROX fundraiser for the International Bipolar Foundation.” Mickey says the words quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the other guests. Ian’s diagnosis is not dinner party conversation. But he wants Ian in on the ground floor with this one. It’s important to Ian, so it’s important to Mickey. 

Ian looks shocked, and touched, and Mickey’s heart just about shatters. Ian often feels alone with his disease, and Mickey wants to put a stop to all that. 

“Oh, Mick.” Ian says, biting his lip as tears pool in his eyes. He’s about THIS close to bawling like a bitch, but he holds it in. Mickey is just so damn sweet. 

Though he’d probably clock Ian for saying that in mixed company. 

“Oh, yes.” Theresa nods, noting the emotional moment and wisely deciding to insert herself back into the discussion. “It’s a very reputable organization, does amazing work in the mental health community. It was founded in memory of this young man...” she goes on to explain the charity to Ian, and why she thinks they are deserving of a fund raiser. Ian listens intently, that warm feeling pooling deep in his gut again. 

The three of them chat about the possible fund raiser as the other guests discuss a show on Netflix Ian has no interest in. The two distinct groups' conversations meld often, dragging each other into long arguments about The Walking Dead or Stranger Things. (Ian is a huge fan of both, but Mickey is always telling him to keep his ‘weirdo upside-down world bullshit off his television.) 

Ian loves all that too. He loves the deep, meaningful discussions. But he also adores the petty teasing and innocuous ribbing. 

He’s just so excited, he can’t help it. This evening has turned into the best night. He and Mandy get on like a house on fire. He can already see them being great friends. Theresa is amazing and kind, and very knowledgeable about BPD for a layperson with no experience. She doesn’t talk down to Ian or patronize him. 

It makes Ian feel good. Like he’s more than just his diagnosis. 

Ian loses himself in the discussion, feeling warm and happy with these people. Time flies by and soon it’s well after nine. Ian’s about to recommend they finally play a game when a knock on the door draws everyone’s attention. 

Ian chuckles, moving to stand. “I’ll get it, Mick. That’s probably Lip. He always says he’s not coming, but shows up at some point.” 

“Nah.” Mickey waves him off with a smile. “My house, I’ll get it.” 

Ian grins at him, going back to his conversation with Theresa. 

Mickey swings the door open to find a giant bouquet of flowers instead of a person. He huffs, confused. 

“Um, hello.” 

The man lowers the flowers, revealing his face. He’s small, that’s the first thing Mickey notices. Shorter than him by a few good inches, which makes him pretty much a hobbit. He’s skinny, with bleach blonde hair and icy grey eyes. The kid is wearing a sweater that’s like three sizes too big, pooling around him spindly form like an amorphous blob, and jeans so skinny it makes him look like he's got twig legs.

“Hi.” the kid says, giving Mickey a condescending smile. It’s a grimace, really, and it’s off putting if Mickey’s being honest with himself. “Mickey Milkovich, I presume.” the guy’s clearly plastered, his voice is dripping with disdain, and now Mickey’s getting pissed. Who the fuck is this guy, coming knocking on his door just to give him attitude? 

“Who’s fucking askin’?” Mickey barks. He knows he’s drawing the attention of his guests, he never could keep his voice down when he was irritated. 

“Well, these are for you.” he thrusts the roses into Mickey’s open hands. “But I’m here to see Ian.” 

“How do you fucking figure?” Mickey replies, incredulous. 

“Well, I met the delivery boy in the elevator on the way up. You’d be surprised how much information you can get with a twenty-dollar bill. I’d like to speak to Ian, please.” 

Mickey is ready to haul off and punch this dickbag. He’s also gonna have a word with the front desk about letting just anyone up the elevator. 

“Who says he’s even here. Who the hell are you?” Mickey places himself between this weirdo and the door, not wanting him anywhere near his apartment. 

“Mick? Who’s there?” Ian calls from behind him. Mickey pinches his eyes shut, growling softly under his breath. 

“No one. Go back to the party.” Mickey is still holding the stupid roses, still completely confused by what is happening now. The only thing he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want Ian anywhere near this dude. 

Too late, it seems. Since now Ian is standing right behind him, gaping at the would-be delivery guy. 

“Jay?” Ian gasps, and Mickey’s confusion ramps up a notch. Ian knows this guy? 

“Hey pumpkin.” the guy replies, going all gooey-eyed. 

What the fuck. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Saw you on twitter. Wanted to talk.” the guy replies, still watching Ian with thinly veiled hunger in his eyes. “Can we get some privacy?” he directs that at Mickey, his pale eyes going hard instantly. 

“Fuck you.” Mickey replies brusquely. “This is my house, bitch.” 

“Mick.” Ian lays a placating hand on his arm. “Just gimme a sec, okay. I’ll be right in.” 

Mickey gives Ian the most incredulous look he can muster. When it’s clear to him that Ian won’t budge, Mickey rolls his eyes, turning his back on his boyfriend and this bizarre stranger and slamming the door behind him. 

He pointedly ignores the partying people in the living room, taking the flowers to the kitchen. He has no idea who would send him flowers, but he’s going to call the florist and complain about their delivery guy selling his address for twenty fucking bucks. 

God damn assholes giving away private information for chump change. 

He pulls the card from the stupid little envelope, glaring at it as he searches for the address of the florist. What his eyes catch on though, is the message scrawled on the card. In almost illegible chicken scratch, he reads a frankly ominous message. 

‘I’ll be watching you. ---Love, your biggest fan.’ 

Mickey drops the card to the counter top, a cold rush of disgust rolls down his spine. 

How did this ‘fan’ get his home address? It’s unlisted, and the station keeps a very tight lid on all the employee’s personal information. The idea that some psychotic super fan could have managed to somehow find that information is very, very troubling. 

Maybe even more troubling that Ian’s own super fan making an unexpected appearance. 

What the fuck even is this night? 

Mickey’s about to suggest they all call it a night when Ian comes storming back inside, his little buddy trailing behind him like he owns the place. 

“Jay, you’re drunk. You’re not welcome here. Go, now. Or I’m calling the police.” Ian’s red faced and full of rage. Jay chuckles, stumbling drunkenly. He reaches for Ian, but Teddy jumps up and holds him back. Mickey is next to Ian in an instant, ready to lay this fucker out if need be. 

“Dude, get outta my house.” Mickey snarls, fisting Jay’s shirt. He raises his fist, ready to pummel this dude, when he starts babbling drunkenly, tears spill from his eyes. 

“It’s not fair!” Jay weeps, rubbing his eyes furiously. “Weren’t we happy?” he rounds on Ian. “Didn’t we have fun together? I was so good to you. And you just dumped me.” Jay’s lower lip is quivering as he glares at Ian. “You broke my heart. And for what?” he rounds on Mickey, fire in his eyes. “For this? This....ugh." he makes a clearly disgusted face. Mickey would be offended if this kid was worth a single shit. As it is, Mickey just chuckles. "Is it the money?” he turns back to Ian. “Is that it? He’s rich and famous. That’s it, right? I saw you two on twitter and I just had to see you, Ian. You weren’t at your apartment. So I just knew you were here. With him. The girl at the front desk wouldn’t give me his apartment number, but the flower guy was more than helpful. See baby?” he reaches toward Ian, pleading. Ian takes a step back, wary. “I’m resourceful. Found you, like one of your detective novels. Can’t you see now? How much I love you. What we had was so special, pumpkin. Don’t throw that away for this guy! He doesn’t know you like I do, never could. Won't ever love you like I do. Please Ian.” there are tears flowing freely from his eyes now, nose a mess of snot. He’s weeping like a baby, and all Mickey’s righteous indignation melts into pity. 

This kid is a drunken mess. Clearly an ex of Ian’s that is taking the news of Ian moving on not so well. 

“Hey kid.” Teddy says, laying a gentle hand on Jay’s shoulder. Jay jumps, but Cal is right there on the other side, gripping Jay’s shaking hand calmly. “How about me and my husband call you a ride? No worries. Let’s go down to the lobby. Cal, baby, call our friend Jay and Uber will you?” 

“Sure thing, love.” Cal replies, pulling his phone out of his pocket without releasing his grip on the still weeping Jay. “C’mon. Let’s go wait downstairs.” Cal turns back to the stunned room. “Mickey, Ian, wonderful party. Let’s do it again real soon.” Cal is smirking, like he finds this little display of domestic violence just so charming. 

Mickey chuckles despite himself, shaking his head. “Sure whatever.” he smiles at his neighbors before fixing the interloper with a cold glare. “Stay the fuck away from my house. Stay away from me. Stay away from Ian. I mean it. Not only will I call the cops on your twink ass, but I will find you after and beat you bloody. I dunno about you, you punk ass bitch, but I have a real expensive lawyer on retainer, and he lives for this shit.” 

Jay blanches, but still looks to Ian, hopeful for some kind of reprieve. 

“Jay, I don’t want to see you again, okay?” Ian’s voice is strong, but it still waivers at the end. He did not expect this tonight. Jay’s appearance after so many months has put a real damper on this evening and his mood. 

They didn’t even date that long, and it ended badly. Ian has no idea where this is coming from. 

“Ian...” Jay pleads, but Teddy just grips him by the shoulders and leads him toward the door. 

“Jay, please.” Ian says, voice low. “Don’t come back, okay?” 

Jay nods, sniffling again as he lets Cal and Teddy usher him out of Mickey’s apartment. Cal shoots them both a sympathetic look as the door closes after them. 

Once Jay is gone, Ian lets out a shuddering sigh, feeling violated in a way he can’t quite articulate. He’s tired and embarrassed and just wants to go home. 

“Guess that’s our cue.” Theresa says softly, gathering her coat from the back of the couch. “Mandy, walk out with me?” 

Mandy looks from Theresa to Mickey. She seems something in her brother’s eyes that give her pause. Something is not right, and she doesn’t feel good about leaving her brother alone. “Are you staying over, Ian?” she asks instead of answering Theresa. 

“I was gonna.” Ian replies sheepishly. “But after all that, I think I just wanna be alone tonight. Is...is that okay?” he glances to Mickey, and Mickey can read the hurt and embarrassment clear as day on his face. 

Mickey would like him to stay, but if Ian needs time to process this shit show of an evening on his own, it’s not Mickey’s place to force him to stay. Ian’s his own person, and Mickey isn’t going to pressure him into shit. 

“Sure Ian.” Mickey smiles, daring to card his fingers through Ian’s messy hair. “Go sleep off the hangover you are working towards and call me in the morning? Maybe we could go out for breakfast or some shit.” 

“Marlene’s has amazing brunch.” Mandy interjects with a small smile. “Bottomless mimosas, heavy on the champagne. My treat, even.” she’s giving Ian the sweetest smile she can muster from her black soul, hoping to ease his anxiety a little. Mandy’s always been good at reading people, and poor Ian is a bundle of nerves and agitation right now. 

“Uh, yeah.” Ian nods weakly, offering the siblings the best approximation of a smile he can muster at the moment. “Just call me whenever you wake up. I’ll probably be up and about already.” 

Mandy nods, shooting Ian her most reassuring smile. 

“Let me walk you out at least.” Mickey mumbles as Mandy gives Ian a wave and flops back down on the sofa, grabbing up her abandoned drink. 

Mickey walks Ian to the door, opening it and leaning in the open doorway as Ian stuffs his hands back in his pockets in the hallway. 

“So....tonight was fun.” Ian says, shooting Mickey a sad little smirk. 

“Yeah, it ended shitty." Mickey concedes. "But I still had a good time, with you.” Mickey adds honestly. He reaches up with his FUCK hand and cups the side of Ian’s face. 

“Yeah?” Ian replies. He can feel his face heating up under Mickey’s stare, but he doesn’t dare look away. “Even with all the drama I brought?” 

“That wasn’t your fault, Ian.” Mickey insists. “And besides, we all got our own shit we bring to the table. Can’t help it. That’s just life.” 

“I guess.” Ian says, his hands coming up to rest on Mickey’s hips. “Still feel like an asshole, though.” 

“Well don’t.” Mickey chuckles, leaning in. “You’re not the pathetic dude that showed up at you’re ex’s new man’s house to beg him back with bourbon on your breath.” 

Ian laughs, he can’t help it. The absurdity of the evening finally catching up with him. He surges forward before he can think about anything else. Mickey’s lips are soft and warm under his. His tongue sweeps into Ian’s mouth, pulling a low groan from his belly. Mickey’s hand delves into Ian’s hair, gripping the strands tight as he kisses Ian breathless. 

When they separate they are both panting. Grinning like loons and gripping each other tight. 

“Okay, see you in the morning.” Ian says, reluctantly pulling away. He doesn’t want to leave Mickey, but he really does need time to process the shit with Jay. He’s not in the right head space for a sleepover, no matter how enticing his bed-mate is. 

“Yeah, okay.” Mickey smiles, pecking Ian’s lips once more before releasing him. He waves like a moron, watching Ian walk down the hall to his own place. 

He’s only a few doors down. It shouldn’t feel like miles to Mickey. But it does. 

God, he’s such a bitch these days. 

After Mickey’s sure Ian’s safe in his apartment, Mickey goes back inside to find his sister in the kitchen. 

With those god damn flowers. 

In the chaos of the Drunk Jay incident, Mickey had almost forgotten. 

She’s holding the card in her hand, a severe look on her face. When she hears Mickey come in, she glances up at him. 

“Looks like Ian’s not the only one with a super fan.” she says, but she’s not smiling. There is no teasing in her tone. “Is this like Bad Bobby all over again? Or is it him?” 

Ah, Bad Bobby. The blood obsessed stalker fan. 

God, Mickey hopes it’s not him. 

“Dunno.” he says, because he doesn’t know. “Whoever it is, they got my home address somehow. And that’s not cool.” 

“You think they’re dangerous?” Mandy asks, voice soft, almost scared. 

“I mean, anyone can be dangerous. Even Ian’s cupcake ex-boyfriend. He may weigh all of eighty pounds, but you don’t need to be a jacked up asshole to fire a gun.” 

“Or wield a machete.” Mandy supplies unhelpfully. 

“Yeah.” Mickey grits out. “Or that.” 

“So, what are you gonna do about it?” 

Mickey shrugs. What can he really do about any of it? Unwanted attention is par for the course in his life. And it seems to be a common theme in Ian’s life too. If Mickey could just go around kicking ass and screaming ‘Don’t fucking come around here!’ - he would. But that’s not really how this works. 

So Ian’s got a creepy ex. And Mickey’s got a creepy stalking. And there are thirsty bitches in this building and all over the internet that wanna scoop Mickey up and turn him into the perfect straight bad boy boyfriend. 

It’s a lot to take it, but not more than Mickey can handle. He’ll figure it out like he always does. 

And this time he’s got Ian on his side. So yeah, the stakes are higher, but so is the reward. 

So fuck Jay the Ex. And fuck Mickey's weirdo stalker. Fuck the bitches down the hall and fuck every last asshole on twitter that thinks he owes them something. 

Mickey’s finally got something in his life worth keeping. Someone in his life worth fighting for. 

And for Ian, he’ll gonna go down swinging, if he has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: (though also a little bittersweet) i was one of those kids that got gifts from Toys 4 Tots growing up. the 90s weren't so good to the working poor, and i distinctly remember getting some pretty amazing presents from strangers over the years. looking back now, it warms my heart to know people out there that didn't even know me went out of their way to make my little holiday a bit brighter. if you're the type that's lucky enough to have the means to give, Toys 4 Tots was always good to me. <3 
> 
> sorry, i'm done now, promise. back to our regularly scheduled programming ;)


	4. Every breath you take...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey's new bond is put to the test as the 'super fan' gets bolder. Unsure of who to trust, they lean on each other more and more. Can this relationship take the stress? Or will it all fall apart under the watchful eye of the stalker?
> 
> title taken from The Police song 'every breath you take'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i know i don't need to say this, but this virus madness has really hit me in the inspiration zone. i'm sure i'm not the only one, but when i'm worried about the health of my loved ones, and how we're going to pay bills and what is happening all over my country, it can be hard to get the creative juices flowing. 
> 
> so, it'll be slow going for a while. i'm not going to stop writing, but i can't promise how consistent it will be. 
> 
> thanks for sticking with me. stay safe out there. stay home & read! all my love, guys <3

Mickey grunts, biting his pillow like a real-life ‘bottom bitch’ stereotype, trying to keep quiet. His back arches as his fingers slide deeper inside himself. God, but it feels good. He keeps one eye on Ian’s sleeping face as he works himself open slowly. Sweat is sliding down his back, his nipples pebbling as the cool air from the fan washes over him like the early morning sunlight drifting in from the widows. 

Ass up, face down, he’s sure he makes quite a picture. But he’s too turned on to care. Half asleep still, he's got a one-track mind. And the idea that he’s writhing all over the bed like a desperate twink half his age doesn’t even register. Because Ian’s right there, slumbering peacefully, with the hardest, sexiest cock in human history. 

And Mickey wants. 

He gasps when his fingertips brush against a particularly sweet spot inside, and he just can’t wait anymore. 

It’s been a couple weeks since the dinner party debacle, and things have been...good and bad. Bad as in the outside world still hasn’t given them a break. Mickey’s still getting weird calls and emails at work. An odd mix of violent threats and declarations of endless love. Very Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 

Mickey can’t make heads or tails of it. 

No more scary gifts at home, but that is little comfort. 

Ian’s ex also hasn’t quite gotten the message, still pestering him enough that Mickey is ready to drag Ian down to the police station to fire a report on the creeper. The messages are all anonymous now, but Ian is certain it’s Jay. The tone of the messages has changed too. No longer is Jay begging Ian to come back to him. Instead he curses Ian out, calling him a loser and an asshole and a dirty faggot. Which is odd considering how much of a flaming homo Jay himself is. Not to mention how badly he wanted Ian back just two weeks ago. Maybe he’s gone from love sick to bitter and resentful. Maybe he thinks giving Ian shit is the way to get him back. 

The whole thing makes zero sense to Mickey. 

But no one ever said crazy ex-boyfriends had to make sense. 

So yeah, Mickey and his new boyfriend are dealing with some shit. 

But if you ask Mickey, the good far outweighed the bad. 

Good as in he and Ian were happier than ever. Spending more time together, getting to know each other. Sharing their favorite music, restaurants, movies. Hell, the previous evening, Mickey went on an hour-long rant about his favorite comic books, and Ian had listened, hanging on every word with this engrossed, adoring look on his face, until Mickey couldn’t take it anymore and jumped him, right there on the couch. 

Ian is just so....everything. And Mickey couldn’t get enough. 

Hence why he’s awake at the ass crack of dawn, preparing to impale himself on his unsuspecting boyfriend’s morning wood. 

Ah, life is pretty damn good, all things considered. 

Mickey glances down at Ian. He’s lying on his back, arms out wide. His face is slack in sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. He’s got the tiniest hint of a smile on his gorgeous lips, and Mickey just wants to kiss him until neither of them can breathe. 

But that’s not the plan. 

So Mickey shakes himself out of his Ian-induced stupor and reaches for the lube. It’s still laying in the sheets from when Mickey took it out to open himself up. He pops the top and drizzles a little river along Ian’s impressive erection. He holds his breath as he grabs Ian’s cock like he’s handing a live grenade. 

He really doesn’t want to wake him up until he’s got him where he wants him. 

He slicks Ian’s cock as quickly and carefully as he can before throwing a leg over his lap. Ian sighs a little, twitching, but doesn’t wake. Mickey holds Ian’s dick straight up and just...slides down on it. He’s still a little loose from last night, so it doesn’t hurt at all. It feels fucking glorious, honestly. 

Ian grunts, his eyes moving wildly under his closed eyelids as Mickey gently grinds down on him. Mickey huffs, his head falling back as Ian fills him so well without even knowing it. 

Mickey plants his hands on Ian’s chest and starts working up a good rhythm. His fingernails dig into Ian’s chest as he flexes his thighs, rides harder. 

A moan tears out of Ian’s chest, his hands flying up to Mickey’s hips. “Mick? What...holy shit.” Ian’s back arches severely and Mickey chuckles, never losing stride. 

“Mornin’.” Mickey sighs, dragging his blunt fingernails down Ian’s chest. Little red welts bloom in the aftermath and Mickey leans down to lave at them with his tongue. 

“Morning.” Ian groans, digging his fingers into Mickey’s ass. He can feel the muscle flexing as Mickey works himself atop Ian’s cock. “God, good fucking morning.” 

Mickey chuckles breathlessly. Ian is staring up at him, eyes wide, lips stretched in a wide smile. "You just looked so good, laying there naked. Couldn’t help myself.” Mickey starts rocking faster. Back and forth, dragging Ian’s cock along his prostate. He stutters out a high-pitched whine, grinding back harder. “Hope you don’t mind. Consent and all.” 

Ian laughs, rocking up into Mickey a little. “Consider this my blanket consent, you can wake me up like this any time you please.” 

“Good to know.” Mickey grits out. He’s close already. Never takes him long in the morning. He stops grinding and starts bouncing. He pops his ass on Ian’s dick, taking him harder and faster as he chases his release. “Oh fuck. Ian.” 

“M’not doing anything.” Ian slurs, thrusting up from below. “S’all you. Fuck. So tight. Goddamn Mick. Gonna come.” 

“Yeah.” Mickey agrees mindlessly. He bounces on Ian’s cock, taking him at a blistering pace. He’s so lost in the motion of his hips, he startles when he feels Ian’s big, warm hand wrap around his cock, which had been bobbing wildly in midair the entire time. “Fuck!” he yelps. Ian strips his cock with skill and precision acquired over the past few weeks. He pulls out all the tricks his sleep addled brain can recall. He thumbs at the head, biting back a moan as Mickey swirls his hips. He’s so close, but he really wants to bring Mickey off first. 

He can tell his boyfriend is close by the sexy little whines he’s trying to suppress. Ian could get off to those noises alone, he’s pretty damn sure. He runs his hand down Mickey’s shaft, squeeze the base as Mickey fucks up into his fist. “Shit. That’s it.” Ian sighs. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Make yourself come.” 

Ian squeeze one last time, dragging his fist up Mickey’s shaft, and Mickey’s coming. Come shoots all over Ian’s fist, landing on his chest. Mickey groans low in his throat, his hips stuttering. 

Ian drops Mickey’s dick and grabs his hips with both hands. He drives his hips up hard, fucking up into Mickey’s pliant body a handful of times before he’s coming too. His eyes slam shut as pleasure washes over him and he fills his boyfriend with his release. He shakes through his orgasm, coming to a few seconds later to discover Mickey collapsed on his chest, a puddle of Mickey’s cooling jizz splattered between their bodies. 

“Ugh.” Mickey says, voice muffled by Ian’s pec. “Best way to start the day.” 

Ian chuckles, running his fingers through Mickey’s sweaty hair as he kisses behind his ear. “Damn right about that.” God, he’s so happy. 

It kinda scares him how happy he is. 

There is so much going on right now. So much to worry about. 

But all that can wait a few more minutes. 

Ian’s just gonna lay here for a second. Covered in sweat and come, blanketed by a man he adores. 

Then they’ll shower and get some caffeine in their systems. 

Then maybe they’ll deal with the elephant in the room. 

Because Mickey has a stalker, and they’re getting bolder. 

*** 

“So, I was thinking we could just be lazy today.” Mickey mumbled into his coffee cup. Ian wasn’t much of a cook, but he could serve one hell of a breakfast spread. The kitchen table was covered in dishes. Cheesy eggs, bacon, rye toast. Which would have been plenty. But then there were waffles with fucking strawberries on them, and hot biscuits and sausage and....bran muffins for whatever reason. 

Mickey’s plate was piled high with all manner of salty, cheesy goodness. He shot Ian a grateful little smile as he snapped a piece of crispy bacon with his teeth. Ian smiled back, having the audacity to actually look shy. 

After everything, he was still nervous. If it wasn’t so sweet, Mickey would laugh in his face. 

“What did you have in mind?” Ian asks, tossing back his morning meds with a swig of orange juice. Honestly, Ian was all for a lazy day inside. He really had no desire to go out in the world at all. It was Saturday morning, and both men had had a hell of a week. With Mickey’s super fan causing problems at work and in the building, and Ian’s ex texting and emailing non-stop, neither man was all too eager to leave the confines of the complex any time soon. 

“Well, first I gotta head home real quick and feed D. But then, I thought we’d hit the gym in the basement, then maybe head up to the roof, chill in the hot tub for a bit. Then we could go back to my place, order some dinner, rent a movie on demand or something. Just hang out.” Mickey trailed off, glancing up at Ian over the rim of his mug. 

It was a lame plan, but Mickey really didn’t feel like facing the world today. 

Ian sighed, smiling brightly. “Mick, that sounds perfect.” he couldn’t help but relax, all of his anxiety draining out of him with his boyfriend’s words. “I really, really don’t wanna go out this weekend. Let’s go to yours, hang out with Diesel.” 

Mickey smiled, nodding, but something still didn’t sit so well with him. “You, uh, you don’t mind? Staying in?” Mickey rubbed the back of his head, avoiding Ian’s questioning eyes. “Y’know, I can’t help but feel like you’re on house arrest these past coupla weeks, and that’s on me.” 

“Mick, don’t say that shit.” Ian insisted. “None of this is your fault.” Ian reached out, wrapping his fingers around Mickey’s wrist. “I don’t mind staying in. As long as I’m with you, I’m good.” 

Mickey shot Ian a small smile, nodding. Ian took his hand back and they returned to their breakfast. 

It was going to be a good day. 

*** 

“Ugh, what a shit idea.” Mickey groaned, the muscles in his arms burning. “Let’s never do this again.” 

Ian chuckled breathlessly, his feet pounding the treadmill rhythmically. “C’mon, Mick. You look hot as fuck lifting those weights.” 

Mickey groaned, shoving the bar up again. He’s been working the chest press for far too long, in some misguided attempt to impress his boyfriend. It had the desired effect, but Mickey is certain he’ll be paying the price later. “I’m done.” he announced, letting the weight go and standing up. 

“Awe, come on.” Ian laughed, feet still flying. “I was enjoying that.” 

“Sucks to be you.” Mickey laughed, sitting down at the leg press machine. “But you should be grateful, this machine works wonders on my ass.” 

Ian whined, and Mickey smirked as he sat down and got pressing. “You like that, huh?” 

“You know I do, asshole.” Ian replied, upping his speed on the treadmill. “Your ass is next level already. I can’t imagine it getting any better.” 

“Always room for improvement.” Mickey grunted, legs extending under the weight. 

Ian was about to reply when the door to the gym opened and two guys walked in. Ian didn’t look, too dangerous while on the treadmill, but Mickey glanced over. 

“Trent, hey.” Mickey smiled as Theresa’s son wandered in with some bleach blond kid he’s never seen before in tow. 

“Mickey!” Trent crows, running over, dragging his friend by the wrist. Mickey sees something between them, something he remembers from when he was young and closeted. The way the blond kid glances at Trent before quickly looking away. The way he fidgets. The way he keeps looking at Trent’s hand on his wrist. 

Huh. 

“Hey Trent!” Ian calls from across the room as he slows the treadmill down to a crawl. “How’s your mom?” 

Ian’s been doing his best to be nice to Trent since the kid gave him the shovel talk in the hallway. Trent has been polite back, and Ian has to wonder if Theresa or Mickey talked to him about it. Maybe both of them did. 

The thing is, Trent is cordial to Ian. Speaks when spoken to, smiles and all that. Never rude or condescending, like that first time. But Ian can still tell the kid is wary around him. He can tell Trent still doesn’t really like him. 

Not that it should matter. Ian is old enough to know that not everyone is going to like him, and he’s okay with that. But the thing is, Trent and Theresa are both important to Mickey, so Ian wants them to like him too. 

Hence why he’s on his best behavior every time the kid pops up. Which is quite often, honestly. 

“Good.” Trent smiles faintly, finally letting go of his friend’s arm. Mickey watches as the friend makes a strange face before schooling his expression and giving Mickey a strained smile. 

Mickey sits up from his machine, planting his feet on the floor. 

“Hello.” the kids says, extending his hand like he’s doing a business deal. “You’re Mickey Milkovich.” 

“Uh, yeah.” Mickey nods, shaking the kid’s hand. “And you are?” 

“Oh, no one.” the kids says, pulling his hand away. He looks at Trent before glancing at Ian quickly before locking eyes with Mickey again. “Just a friend of Trent’s.” 

Trent rolls his eyes, punching the kid in the shoulder. “Mickey, this is my good friend Marcus. He lives with his mom, Mary Ellen, and his sister Scarlet up on 9. They just moved in and I'm showing him around. We go to school together.” 

And is Trent....blushing? 

Oh shit. These two are fucking. Or at least Trent wants to fuck Marcus. 

Mickey wonders how he missed it when he first met Trent. Why had it taken Ian pointing it out for Mickey to realize Trent was a queer as a three-dollar bill? 

Huh. Whatever it is, it’s kinda cute. In an awkward newly-gay-I-have-no-chill kinda way. Mickey wonders idly as Ian chats them up, if either of them are out. How serious they are. How likely Trent is to be hurt. 

It’s really none of his business, but Mickey’s become good friends with Theresa, and through that friendship he’s come to care for Trent. Mickey remembers acutely what it felt like to be used up and spit out by other boys when he was finding his gay way in life. 

Not that he can do shit to stop it. 

But he makes a note to pay attention, and be there for Trent if it all goes to shit. If Trent will let him, that is. 

“That sounds like fun.” Ian says, and Mickey realizes he’s missed the whole conversation. 

“Huh?” he asks, ever eloquent. 

“Trent and Marcus wanna spar in the ring, but asked if we could show ‘em some pointers first.” Ian explained, pointing to the boxing ring in the corner of the gym. Mickey smirked, all thoughts about Trent and his friend-maybe-more flying right out of his head. 

He loves sparring with Ian. He’ll take any chance, make any excuse to get Ian in the ring and on the mat. It may be a bit awkward with two probably gay teens watching, but Mickey doesn’t give a damn. 

“Fuck yeah.” Mickey chuckles darkly. “Let’s do this.” 

*** 

Ian always forgets what a dirty fighter Mickey is. 

He shouldn’t, since he always ends up in the same position. 

Not that he minds, but they are in mixed company. So he huffs a laugh and taps his knuckles down on the mat. 

Mickey smirks down at him. He’s got Ian pinned to the mat, hands on both his wrists, thighs squeezing his hips. Ian’s half hard, and that’s just embarrassing, since there are two teenage boys watching from the other side of the ropes. 

“See what I did there?” Mickey asks the boys, flexing his hips once more before he releases Ian and stands from the mat, subtly adjusting his junk. (sparring gets Mickey just as hot as Ian.) 

Ian sits up but doesn’t stand just yet, giving his dick a second to settle down. 

“You distracted him.” Marcus says, smiling at Mickey like they’re sharing a secret. 

“Exactly.” Mickey grins back. “I came at him with my left, but then kicked out with my right leg instead.” 

“I was talking about all that shit you were whispering to him, but yeah, the fake-out punch worked too.” Marcus chuckled. 

Ian can feel his face heat up. Damn, he thought Mickey’s nasty words were between them, but looks like Marcus was paying better attention than he thought. 

That’s...weird. 

Mickey doesn’t seem bothered by it. He just throws his head back and laughs. He’s gorgeous when he laughs, and Ian just wants to kiss him. 

Marcus seems to have other plans, however. 

“Can you show me?” he asks, directing the question and all his attention towards Mickey. 

“Sure, kid.” Mickey shrugs, waving him into the ring. “C’mon then.” 

Marcus beams, stumbling over himself to get into the ring. Ian finally stands, rolling his shoulders before jumping down out of the ring. He stands next to Trent, giving him a small smile. “Wanna work on your combos?” he asks. 

Trent’s eyes slide over to Marcus and Mickey already sparring in the ring. Mickey is calling out combos, giving Marcus tips on the fly. Mickey dances around him, clearly well-versed in the art of fighting. Marcus struggling to keep up. Trent stares at them for a long moment before glancing back at Ian. “You any good at submission moves?” 

Ian chuckles. 

This is gonna be fun. 

*** 

Ian pins Trent’s hand, wrenching it upwards behind his back until Trent grunt out “Uncle.” Ian releases him, doing his best to keep the smug look on his face. 

“Had enough, kid?” Ian asks, grabbing his water bottle off the mat. Mickey and Marcus are still grappling in the ring, but it’s clear to Ian that Marcus is running out of steam too. Mickey is going easy on him, by their standards, but the kid’s a quick study. 

“Sure.” Trent replies, throwing himself down on the mat and reaching for his Gatorade. Ian drops down next to him to wait out the sparring session. 

“You and him good friends?” Ian asks, motioning toward Marcus with his bottle. 

“Something like that.” Trent replies, cryptic as ever. “He moved into the building not all that long ago. His parents got divorced, it was messy, I guess.” Trent took a long sip of his drink. Ian wants to tell him to stop talking, that it’s none of his business, but Trent goes on before he can get a word in. “His dad got into some shit. Did time. He, uh, Marc really looks up to him, y’know? And he took it all pretty bad. So, like, moving, divorce, jail, all that. It kinda got on top’a him. I’m just trying to help him out.” Ian can see it plain as day, that adoration. Trent probably doesn’t even know it’s visible, but Ian can remember what it was like to be young and in love for the first time. 

He wonders if it’s mutual. He wonders if Theresa knows. He wonders....ah fuck. It’s none of his business. He remembers what it was like at that age. When his brother confronted him about his gay porn. He'd been angry. Sure, he forgave Lip and felt better after he knew, but Ian held onto that feeling of betrayal long after he let go of the anger. 

So he won’t ask. It’s not like Ian is all that close to Trent’s family. Mickey is Theresa’s friend. 

Ian is just her neighbor, for now. And running your mouth about the kid’s sexuality probably won’t win him any favors with Theresa. 

“Well, it’s good that you're trying to be there for him.” Ian says. “It can be hard to find good friends at your age.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Trent says, and Ian can hear the sadness in his tone, clear as day. He feels for the kid, he really does. But what can he do about it? 

“You about ready to go, Ian?” Mickey says, finally dropping out of the ring and sauntering over. Ian licks his lips without meaning to, his eyes wandering over Mickey’s sweaty chest and bulging biceps. 

“Um. Yeah.” he replies, voice thick. He clears his throat a bit, standing. He reaches out for Mickey without thought, resting his hand on Mickey’s hip. “Let’s go take a shower and then hit the hot tub, huh?” 

Mickey smirks, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Yeah?” 

Ian bites his lip, nodding. He’s totally forgotten about their audience now, his other hand coming up to smooth Mickey’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “Yeah. Let’s go.” he grabs Mickey’s hand and his water bottle and heads for the door, confused when Mickey doesn’t move. 

Ian turns to find Mickey looking back at Trent and Marcus. 

Oh. Right. 

“See you guys later.” Mickey smiles, saluting the teens with two fingers before turning around and letting Ian lead him out of the gym. 

“Wow.” Marcus says when they are alone again. “I mean, I knew he’d be badass, but....” 

“I know, right?” Trent replies, chuckling. “Mick’s super cool. So what do you wanna do now?” 

Marcus turns to Trent with a grin on his face. “How ‘bout we go up to the roof?” 

*** 

The condo association has been doing a lot of work on the rooftop. In the few months since Ian and Mickey had known each other, they’d put in a glass enclosure with a roof over it, for residents to grow herbs and flowers, like a greenhouse almost. And it was also a pretty decent spot for hanging out in the rain. There’s even a pool table in there, a set of speakers to hook your phone up to for tunes, along with a collection of games you can bring out on the deck. Ring toss, cornhole, fucking twister. Summer party games. There’s even one of those huge wooden Jenga games. 

There’s also a table in there. Seats four. For card games or whatever. The greenhouse room is great for smaller get togethers. Birthday parties, baby showers, Friday night drinking games. 

The little glass room is pretty bad ass, but Mickey can’t help but wonder what would happen in a big storm. Images of flying shards of glass assault his brain as he steps past the enclosure. The condo manager promised him the glass is hurricane Cat 4 rated, but Mickey has his doubts. 

Anxiety brain. That’s what Mandy calls it. 

Not that it matters, they’re not going to play pool. Mickey leads Ian by the grip he has on his wrist toward the back corner of the rooftop. Past the pool and the lounge chairs. Past the barbecue and tiny little fire pit, (how is that code?) Past the shed with the pool noodles and shit in it. Past all that and to the very back corner of the deck, where Jeff, the condo manager put their brand new six-person hot tub. (Mickey is more than happy to pay his association dues if they go to shit like this.) 

It’s almost summer, but not quite. It’s a little before noon, and the spring sun beats down on them as Mickey starts the hot tub. The jets whir to life and Ian puts their towels down on a teak deck chair and wraps his arms around Mickey from behind. There is a bit of a breeze this high up, and Ian uses that as an excuse to cuddle up while they wait for the water to heat. 

“This was a good idea.” Ian decides, letting his hands wander. They’re alone on the rooftop. Ian’s not sure why, Saturdays are usually busy up here. Neighbors sunning themselves or chillin’ in the pool. People doing yoga. Hell, Christine from 4H comes up here to fucking belly dance and do tai chi and shit. 

But not today. Today the place is deserted. Ian grins against Mickey’s neck, kissing him softly behind his ear. 

“Hey!” Mickey chuckles, wriggling a little. “We’re not up her to get all handsy.” 

“No?” Ian asks, all innocent as his hands slide down Mickey’s sides, resting on his hips. He pulls gently, settling Mickey’s ass in the bowl of his pelvis. 

“No.” Mickey insists, pulling away even though he doesn’t want to. They are still in public. On the roof, sure, but it’s the middle of the day and anyone could walk up here at any moment. 

Mickey wants Ian’s dick. Always does. But not enough to show Mr. McGreedy in 2G his bare ass. 

“Keep your dick in your pants and I’ll make it worth your while when we get back downstairs.” Mickey promises as he pulls away from Ian and hops into the tub. He hisses as the hot water hits his skin, but settles immediately. The bubbles feel amazing on his tired, sore muscles. 

“You drive a hard bargain.” Ian laughs, following Mickey into the water. He settles against the wall of the hot tub, pulling Mickey’s body between his spread legs. Mickey hums happily. Ian tugs him until he’s once again got his ass pressed up against Ian’s dick. The water obscures the view, but Mickey can feel him. Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s middle, kissing his neck. 

“Ugh, this is good.” Mickey sighs, letting his head rest on Ian’s thigh under the water. “Needed this.” 

“Yeah.” Ian agrees. It’s been a long couple weeks, and both of them are feeling the pressure. ‘M’sorry, Mick.” Ian hears himself say. He regrets it immediately when Mickey tenses. 

They haven’t spoken about it all week. Not one word about what they are going through, separately and together. Now really doesn’t feel like the time to bring it up, but if not now, when? When they get back downstairs, Ian knows they are going straight to fucking, then lunch...soon they will be going to bed and another day will have passed without them discussing their issues. 

That is no way to build a healthy, lasting relationship. 

Ugh, there’s Ian’s therapist again, voicing her opinions under the guise of Ian’s own thoughts. 

“You got nothing to be sorry for, Ian. What are you even talking about?” Mickey replies, his voice harder than he intended. He brought Ian up here to relax. This is the last thing he wants to talk about. 

“Mick, I think...I think it’s Jay.” Ian mumbles, his arms tightening around Mickey’s middle, like he’s afraid Mickey will slip right through his fingers. “Your stalker.” 

“What?” Mickey balked, turning over in the hot tub to get a better look at his boyfriend. Ian looks guilty, like he’d done something to bring this on them. 

“I mean, it makes sense, right? I start getting weird calls at work, messages on my phone, right after Jay starts coming around again. All conveniently anonymous. I mean, come on, right? Jay just happens to reappear after we start dating, just as you start getting these threats? He knows where you work, he’s got both our home addresses. He came to the building. It all fits.” 

Mickey looked at Ian, taking in his sad eyes and jittery posture. He really thought his dumbass ex was the disgruntled fan/stalker. Mickey wasn’t entirely convinced. He’d only met Jay once, but the dude seemed like a pussy. Mickey really can’t see him sending the kind of emails he’d been receiving at work. 

But, better safe than sorry. 

“Listen, Ian.” Mickey said, reaching up to card his fingers through Ian’s damp hair. “I really don’t think your ex is the stalker, but if it would make you feel better, we’ll call Detective Erickson and give her the info, okay?” 

“Okay.” Ian nodded sheepishly. 

“But,” Mickey replied, tapping his fingers against Ian’s neck. “If we do all that, the cops with have all Jay’s info. They’re gonna look into him. They may even bring him in for questioning, start a file on him. I’m sure Jay will be pretty damn pissed about that. D’you think it’s worth it?” 

“Mick.” Ian sighed, his fingers digging into Mickey’s hips under the bubbling water. “I don’t care what Jay thinks about it. If he didn’t want to be involved with the cops, he’d leave me the fuck alone. Even if the chance is minuscule that he’s the stalker, I would much rather be safe.” 

Mickey smiled softly, cupping the side of Ian’s face. “Okay, sure.” he replied. “Better safe than sorry.” 

Ian smiled, relieved. 

It didn’t really solve their problem, but it was at least a proactive step they could take together. 

“Good. "Mickey replied, grinning. “Now, enough of this serious shit. Fucking kiss me.” 

Ian chuckled, shaking his head, before reaching up with one wet hand and tangling his fingers in Mickey’s hair. Mickey huffed a small laugh as his head was wrenched down, Ian claiming his mouth with an all-consuming eagerness. Mickey met him just as a passionately, licking into Ian’s smiling mouth. 

Ian groaned lowly, hooking his hands under Mickey’s thighs and pulling him onto his lap. Mickey chuckled, deepening the kiss as he settled atop his boyfriend. 

They were still in public, on the roof of their building, so Mickey did his best to keep it PG. He tried not to rock on Ian’s lap. Tried not to moan too loud or splash too much. 

God, this was a terrible idea. Mickey just wanted Ian right fucking now. 

Stupid hot tub. 

Ian chuckled, pulling away. “Jeez, Mick, what the hot tub ever do to you?” 

“Shit.” Mickey laughed. “I said that out loud.” 

“Sure did.” Ian grinned, pulling Mickey back in. Ian kissed him like they had all the time in the world, and Mickey let him. The sun beat down as the bubbles swirled around them. And nothing else mattered in that moment. 

*** 

“Dude, I’m not sure we should be up here.” Trent said, warily eyeing the couple in the hot tub. 

“Why not?” Marcus replied, pulling out a deck of cards from one of the plastic bins in the greenhouse. “Wanna play rummy?” 

“Marc, man. Ian and Mickey are like, right there.” Trent pointed toward the hot tub, glaring incredulously at his friend. “And they’re in the middle of a pretty private moment.” 

“What?” Marcus goaded, “two dudes making out gross you out, or get you hot?” 

“Fuck off.” Trent replied, shoving his friend with an open palm. “I’d be a total hypocrite if it grossed me out.” he gave Marcus a meaningful look. “I’m just saying, it’s kinda like spying on them? Right?” 

“Listen, man.” Marcus reached out, patting Trent’s hand. “It’s a public space. My mom pays dues just like yours, just like those hornballs in the hot tub. I’m not gonna leave the roof just cuz they wanna have a dry humping session in a public space. If anyone’s gross, it’s them.” 

Trent rolled his eyes, but didn’t reply. He still didn’t feel right about it, but it wasn’t worth the argument. “Fine. Fucking deal the cards.” 

Marcus grinned, shuffling the cards with a smirk. 

The two friends got lost in the cards. Trent so consumed in the game, he didn’t notice how often his friend’s eyes flitted toward the two men in the hot tub. 

*** 

“Ian, calm down.” Mickey sighed over the line. He probably should have told Ian this in person. 

“Mick, I am about done being calm about this shit. We are going down to the precinct tonight and talking to Marcia about this.” 

“Marcia?” Mickey balked, waving Fitzy off when his producer gave him a weird look. “You’re on a first name basis with the detective on my stalking case?” 

Ian huffed, and Mickey could tell he was growing frustrated. Mickey could relate. It had been another two weeks since the day in the hot tub, when they spoke about Jay possibly being the stalker. Mickey still wasn’t so sure about that, but Ian seemed adamant that they should at least inform the police. 

Mickey had been more hesitant. Growing up as he did, cops were never really an option. Even after he got out, after he turned his life around, that ingrained distrust of police never really went away. 

He didn’t trust cops to believe what they said. And he didn’t cops them to protect them when the chips were down. 

Of course, he didn't let his old hang ups get in the way. He'd still called Erickson and told her about Ian's suspicions. They hadn't heard anything back, so Mickey has no way of knowing if the cops have called Jay in or not.

Mickey made a mental note to clean his handgun and make sure he had bullets. Being the only Milkovich without felony record had it's perks. One of them being his conceal carry permit and his perfectly legal Glock 19. 

He wonders if Ian knows how to shoot. 

“Mick!” Ian’s voice pulled him out of his head. “Are you listening?” 

“Yeah.” Mickey replied, glancing at the clock. He had to be back on air in three minutes. Lexi was glaring at him. Mickey flipped her off. “What?” 

“I said I got another message on my work email.” 

Mickey’s heart sank. His blood ran cold. 

Ian’s still getting messages, but the tone has changed dramatically. The emails are meaner, the language harsher, the threats more creative. Ian has done a complete 180, now insisting it can’t be Jay, that Jay doesn’t have it in him to be so crass or cruel. 

Mickey’s afraid it’s one of his fans. Some crazed maniac that blames Ian for Mickey not being single. Or worse, blames Ian for Mickey being gay. 

The thought that Ian’s harasser is a fan of Mickey’s makes guilt roil in his stomach. 

“What did it say?” Mickey asks, dreading the answer. 

“Oh you know, the regular.” Ian sighs. “Die, sodomite. You ruin everything you touch. You will pay. Et cetera et cetera.” 

“Ian....” Mickey groaned. Oh god, this was bad. 

“It’s fine, Mick.” Ian insisted, voice rough. It was not fine at all. “I’ll call Detective Erickson, forward the emails. She’ll add them to the file.” 

Mickey sighed again. There wasn’t much he could do right now. He was back on air in 50 seconds and Ian was at the office today. 

It would have to wait. 

“Meet me at mine after work.” Mickey decided. 

He needed to see Ian tonight. 

“Yeah.” Ian agreed, and Mickey could hear the tension bleeding out of his voice. Ian put up a good front, but Mickey could tell he was just as worried as Mickey was. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“I’ll order that nasty vietnamese shit you love.” Mickey offered. 

Ian chuckled tiredly over the line. “That sounds perfect. Extra peanut sauce.” 

“You got it.” 

“Alright...see you soon.” 

“Yeah.” Mickey replied, waiting to hear Ian hang up before disconnecting the call and placing his cell face down on the table. 

Just then Fitzy waved a hand and pointed at the control panel. Mickey shot him a thumbs up and flicked the On-Air sign. 

“Hey, you’re with Mad Dog Mick in the morning and that was Megadeath.” 

*** 

Ian was doing his best to stay calm. Considering his diagnosis and his tendency toward anxiety, that was easier said than done. 

It’s just...nothing like this has ever happened to him before. He doesn’t blame Mickey. It’s not his fault. Just like it’s never a celebrity's fault when the acquire a stalker. 

That'd be like blaming John Lennon for his own murder. Just wrong on so many levels. 

Unfortunately, Mickey didn’t see it that way. Ian can tell any time they talk about the stalker, Mickey thinks it's all his fault. It breaks Ian’s heart to see his boyfriend taking all the blame for something he can’t control. 

Ian’s only known Mickey for a few months now, but he’s seen how his fans treat him. Some venerate him to the point of sainthood, other objectify him like some emotionless sexy toy. Some claim him like he’s a prize to be won. 

Not that they’re all like that. Some of Mickey’s fans are very sweet and incredibly respectful. 

It’s just...the crazy ones kinda sour Ian on the whole experience. 

Being Mad Dog’s boyfriend is exhausting. 

But being Mickey’s boyfriend makes it all worthwhile. 

“Ian, we need to talk.” one of Ian’s unit managers has appeared in his cubicle, looking severe. 

“Yes, Mr. Frond?” Ian replies, turning in his chair to glance up at the man. Mr. Frond is one of his least favorite unit managers. Only ever comes to Ian when he has a particularly nasty audit to perform. One no one else wants. 

Ian is dreading his new assignment before he even knows what it is. 

“We’ve had...some complaints.” Mr. Frond replies, his face pinched. “Some improprieties. On your part.” 

“What?” Ian balks, brow furrowed. He is always completely professional. He never cuts corners, never breaks the law, is never anything but respectful with his clients and co-workers. 

Mr. Frond frowns. “We had an anonymous complaint left with our HR department. An ethics complaint.” 

Ian’s blood runs cold. No way. Never in a million years would he violate his ethics. 

“Now, don’t look at me like that.” Mr. Frond says, clearly taking in Ian’s ashen face. “The complaint had no specifics. No case number or client information. I can’t tell you much until Legal looks at it, but it was an unspecified accusation of tax fraud.” 

“Sir.” Ian said, his blood running hot. His fear and anxiety melting into rage instantly. “I would never.” 

Tax Fraud? How god damn ridiculous is that? 

“Mr. Gallagher.” Mr. Frond said, putting up a hand to placate Ian. Ian was shocked by the use of his surname. 

How much trouble is he in? 

“It’s just a precaution.” Mr. Frond insisted. “Protocol in these instances. You are not being fired.” 

“But you’re sending me home.” Ian surmised, nodding sadly. 

“Only until we can have Legal and the Fraud Team check your records. You’ll be on paid administrative leave until we clear this up. If, and I don’t see this happening, mind you, but if we do find impropriety, we’ll inform you and go from there.” 

Ian knew what happened if he got caught committing tax fraud. Not only would he lose his job, but the firm would report him to the IRS and the police. 

Ian’s anxiety wanted to take over then, but he pushed it down. Breathing slowly through his nose, he reminded his broken brain that he’d done nothing wrong. 

He had never cheated on anyone’s taxes. Never taken bribes or bent the rules. He was safe. 

And soon Mr. Frond and the firm would see that he was innocent, and he’d go back to work. 

So he just nodded, standing up. “Thank you, sir.” he said quietly as he went about gathering his things. “I’ll head home and wait for your call.” 

“Very good, son.” Mr. Frond said, and Ian would have sworn he heard fondness in his tone. “Thank you for your cooperation. I’m sure it is all a big misunderstanding. You've always been an exemplary employee.” 

Ian gave Mr. Frond a tight smile and a small nod before swinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and walked out of the office. 

The whole way home, Ian ruminated on the chain of events. 

It was the stalker. 

It had to be. 

*** 

Mickey sighs, stretching his neck. No one ever talks about how much stress your body goes through sitting in the same spot for hours on end. But Mickey knew. His shoulders were tense, his back hurt like a bitch, and he had a knot at the base of his neck that was giving him the worst headache. 

A little voice in the back of his head whispered that all this pain was a result of the stress he was under. But he ignored it. 

Mickey has had rabid, crazy fans since he started on the radio. Girls that wanted to bang him, guys who wanted to be his best friend. People who thought they’d be the best roommates or people who wanted to kick his queer ass. His fans and detractors were varied and many. 

But none of them had gotten to him like this one. 

The calls and emails had gotten so out of control, Fitzy put an intern on the phones. Screening all the calls. Mickey could no longer take live calls on air without them being screened first by Petey. 

Not that the crazies still didn’t get through. It’s easy to tell Petey you want to hear classic Nirvana, then tell Mickey you wanna suck his cock once you get on air. 

But this, this was a whole other animal. 

It was the stalker, it had to be. 

Because these calls and emails were very specific. 

Ian-specific, to be honest. 

Mickey took a sip of his coffee as Pink Floyd played on air. 

“Uh, Fitzy.” Petey’s worried voice cut through the quiet room. Mickey sighed. Lexi and Kenny turned away, talking quietly among themselves, because they knew where this was going. 

Lexi might be a bitch, but she at least kept her trap shut about Mickey’s stalker. 

“Yeah, Pete?” Fitzy wandered over, laying a hand on the back of Mickey’s office chair. Mickey appreciated the silent support. 

“Um, this chick is going off on how Mick is a sodomite? How he’s a bad role model for kids and how he shouldn’t be allowed on air to spread his misinformation. How him and his, erm, faggot boyfriend should be ashamed of themselves.” 

“Misinformation!” Mickey laughed. “What misinformation is that? That it’s okay to be gay? That Ian and I have every right to happiness as any other asshole? I won’t back down on that. Tell that homophobic bitch to come say that shit to my face.” 

Kenny chuckled quietly, while Lexi rolled her eyes. 

Fitzy laid his hand on Mickey’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “Petey, just tell her we appreciate her concern, but we are an equal opportunity employer and we do not condone hate speech. If she has any more issues, send her to the complaint department. And send her number to Legal, just in case.” 

Petey nodded, turning back to his phone. 

“Thanks, Fitzy.” Mickey said, smiling tightly. “I thought for a second it was the stalker, but that’s a dude, not some bigoted chick.” 

“How do you know?” Lexi asks, surprising Mickey. 

“How do I know?” Mickey repeated. “Cuz all the other calls have been a dude.” 

Lexi hummed, nodding. “Just don’t get too, like, fixated on it being one person or another. I’d tell your lady cop about that call too.” 

Mickey scowled at Lexi, wary of any advice she had. But he begrudgingly agreed. 

She had a point. 

“Petey, can you email me a copy of that call, and the number please?” 

“Sure, Mick.” Petey said with a wan smile. 

Mickey nodded, glancing at his coworkers. “Let’s finish this up. I wanna go home.” 

Kenny nodded, flicking his own On-Air sign. “Hey Chicago, this is Pratt Attack coming at you at the end of the show. We’re gonna close out the day with a classic. Here’s a little Floyd for your Monday morning. 

As ‘Great Gig in the Sky’ started playing softly in the studio, Mickey gathered his things. He left the studio without another word, ready to get the hell out of the station, and hopefully away from his stalker for sixteen god damn hours. 

*** 

Ian huffed as he stepped into the elevator. He's glad to be home, but he’s still fuming from what happened at work. 

The stalker. 

The stalker was trying to ruin his life. 

But why? What the hell had Ian done to this person? Why were they so fixated on destroying him? 

Jay would never do something like this. Even if he hated Ian, which he doesn’t, he’d never have the balls to accuse Ian of fraud just to get back at him. Not to mention, if Jay’s plan was to win Ian back, destroying his career was no way to go about it. 

Whatever. Ian’s going to put it out of his mind. He’s going to go up to his apartment, do his damndest to avoid Cal, (Ian just doesn’t have the emotional fortitude for a Cal Interaction right now) and relax. He knows Lip left him some weed the last time he came over, and Ian is going to find it. 

He just needs to get out of his head for a bit. 

He shoulders his way into his apartment, kicking his oxfords off and stumbling into the living room. He loosens his tie as pulls out his phone as he falls backwards on the couch. He wants to talk to Mickey. 

He’s off air now, probably on his way back to the building. 

Me: hey mick. had a shit day. i'm leaving work early. when can i come over? 

He drops the phone on the coffee table and goes to the kitchen. He thinks he left the weed in the freezer. 

Why? He has no idea. 

He opens the freezer and indeed finds the bag of Gorilla Glue his brother left the last time he visited. He brings it back to the living room, laying it on the end table to thaw just as his phone vibrates. 

Ian lunges for it, eager to hear from his boyfriend. 

Mick: just go over at wait for me? nothing cheers you up more than getting slobbered all over. 

Ian chuckled, feeling better already. He shook his head as he typed out his reply. 

Me: slobbered on by you? or your dog? 

Mickey’s reply was instantiations. 

Mick: both, if you’re lucky. 

Ian burst out laughing, the knot in his chest loosening. 

It was gonna be okay. 

*** 

Mickey sighs to himself as he leans against the back of the elevator. The lift lurches and Mickey crosses his arms over his chest as he waits to get to the eighth floor. 

He holds in a groan as the car stops on the fourth floor and three girls wander on. Mickey recognizes two of them from about a month ago. The night of the ill-fated dinner party. Jenna and Nina? The horny ballerinas. 

Fucking wonderful. 

The third girl he doesn’t know. She looks younger, but not by much. She’s tall and thin with coppery red hair. Not like Ian’s, hers has bloodier, maroon tones threaded in. She’s ridiculously pale, wearing a dark blue dress that makes her look like her skin might glow in the dark. 

“Oh, hey Mickey.” one of the ballerinas says. Mickey can’t remember which one she is. “Good show today. You got some weird fans.” 

The comment hits Mickey right in the gut, but he does his best not to let it show. “You can say that again.” 

“My brother’s a huge fan.” the red head says, her voice quiet and unsure. “Says he met you a while back in the gym?” 

“Oh, you’re Marcus’s sister?” Mickey asks, smiling a little. He and Ian have seen Marcus and Trent around the building a few more times since then, and Mickey had grown fond of the kid. He was awkward and still a little star struck, but Mickey couldn’t hold that against him. “He’s a good kid.” 

Mickey expected a smile or a kind word in return, but the girl just stared at him. Mickey cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. 

“He is.” she finally said, turning away from him. 

The other two girls started chatting him up, asking him if he wanted to join them for a drink on the roof. 

Mickey knew where this was going, and he was about ready to end this little dance for good. 

“Thanks girls, but I had a long day, and I really just wanna get home to my boyfriend and my dog.” 

The ballerinas stared at him, looking shocked for some asinine reason. The red head looked livid, which just confused Mickey even more. 

“So it’s true, then?” the blond asks, looking sad. “You’re really queer?” 

“Um, yeah.” Mickey nods, eyebrows raised. “Y’know, like I’m always saying?” 

“Not even bi?” the other dancer asks, stepping closer but not reaching out to touch him. “Like, we read online that you might be bi...” 

“Sorry girls.” Mickey gave them a tight smile. “But I’m like, a hundred percent gay. Super into dudes, loves dick. Big ol’ Moe.” Mickey was starting to sweat. He thought his days of defending his choice of bed partner would be behind him someday. But it seemed to never end. 

“Huh.” the blond replied, looking confused. She turned to her friend. “We have made utter fools of ourselves, twice now.” 

The brunette chuckled, patting her friend on the head. “We sure did.” she turned to Mickey, giving him a smile. “Sorry. We’re new in town, and it seems all the attractive men in this building are gay.” 

Mickey laughed when she did. The girl had a point. “It’s fine, really. Just didn’t want to give you the wrong impression.” 

“Oh no.” the brunette replied. “We’re just not used to hearing no. As awful as that sounds.” 

Mickey laughed at that. “Well, no hard feelings, huh? We do gotta live in the same building.” 

“For sure.” the blond replied. 

The redhead stayed ominously silent, watching Mickey with a cold expression on her face. 

The elevator stopped at the eight floor and Mickey moved to step off. He turned back to the elevator once he was in the hall. “Uh, Teddy and Cal reserve the media room once every coupla weeks, do movie screenings in there. Food, booze, good company. Ian and I go down there sometimes. You’re welcome to join.” 

The girls gave him twin grins, nodding in odd synchronicity. “We’d like that.” the brunette said. 

“Cool.” Mickey replied, stepping back so the doors could close. “Um, Cal posts the dates on the community board. Just come up whenever.” 

“Thanks!” the blond said just as the door closed. 

*** 

“So we won’t be getting any good dick, but he seems nice.” Nina said, checking her make up in her hand mirror as they ascended toward the roof. 

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not ideal, but we can always use more friends. His boyfriend, the red head, he has that sexy brother too. With the weird name? What are the odds there are two hot gay boys in one family?” Jenna giggles. 

“So all is not lost.” Nina agrees with a smirk. 

“Fucking faggot.” Scarlet muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What, honey?” Nina turned to face their new friend. “Did you say something?” 

“Nothing.” Scarlet replied, clamping her mouth shut on what she really wanted to say. 

*** 

Mickey let himself into his apartment. Ian was already there, presumably having used the key Mickey gave him late last week. 

Ian is sitting on Mickey’s couch, petting Diesel with a grim look on his face. There is a bag of weed on the table, with a couple rolled joints sitting by the remote. The TV is playing some action movie, the explosions and gunshots the only sound in the room. 

Ian looks up when Mickey walks in, giving his boyfriend a small, sad smile. “Hey Mick.” 

“Hey.” Mickey replies warily, dropping his bag and coat into the armchair. He strips his shoes off, kicking them toward the closet before dropping himself on the couch next to Ian. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend, resting his head on his shoulder. He runs the fingers of his free hand through Diesel's fur, earning himself a low growl. 

“Hey buddy.” Mickey laughs softly. “Missed you too.” 

Ian huffs out a tired laugh, turning his face towards Mickey’s. Mickey grins, closing the small distance between them to plant a chaste kiss on Ian’s lips. 

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Mickey said into the small space between their mouths. "How come you're home early? You feelin' okay?" 

Ian groans, pinching his eyes shut. He pulls away from Mickey, upsetting Diesel in the process. The dog huffs, jumping off the couch and wandering over to his dog bed by the window. 

Ian doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reaches for the joint on the table, pulling a lighter out of his pocket and leaning back against Mickey once more. He puts the joint to his lips and lights it, taking a long pull before passing it to Mickey. 

Mickey takes the weed without comment. Ian’s not big on getting high. Only ever does when his anxiety is so high he can’t function. 

This is not a good sign. 

Mickey takes a hit, passing it back without a word. He'll wait for Ian to speak. 

Something’s very wrong. But what else is new these days? 

They smoke silently until Mickey is pretty damn buzzed. He waves Ian off when he tries to pass him the joint. Ian nods, leaning over to stub it out in the ashtray. He lies back against the couch cushions, pulling Mickey against his chest. Mickey goes easily, laying his head over Ian’s heart. 

“I got sent home today.” Ian says, out of the blue. 

“Huh?” Mickey asks, pulling his head back so he can look at Ian. “Why?” 

“Anonymous tip about tax fraud, if you can believe that.” Ian said, face pinched. 

“What the fuck?” Mickey said, eyebrows arching. “Ian, you are like, the most honest accountant ever. You do taxes for more than half this building. Teddy and Cal swear by you.” 

“I know, Mick.” Ian sighed. “Even my boss said he thinks it’s bullshit. But when a complaint comes in, they have to investigate. It’s the law. And while they are investigating, I can’t work. It’s not allowed. In case I try to destroy evidence or fabricate records.” 

“That’s bullshit.” Mickey growled. Diesel's head poked out of his bed, growling back. “Easy boy.” Mickey said. “It’s fine, D.” 

The dog huffed, but laid back down. Mickey turned to Ian. “So, what do we do? How do we fix this?” 

Ian smiled, that sad, small thing again. He shook his head. “Nothing we can do. Just gotta wait til the investigation clears me. My boss is pretty certain they will. And I know they will, since I haven’t done a damn thing wrong.” 

“Then why would someone....” Mickey left the rest of the question unasked. 

He knew why. 

“Oh, Ian.” he said, frowning. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” 

“What?” Ian balked, sitting up. Mickey let him pull away, even if the minuscule distance between them felt like miles. “What are you talking about?” 

“Ian, it has to be my stalker.” Mickey replied, as if it were obvious. 

It was to him. Who else could it be? 

“Your stalker? No.” Ian shook his head. “It has to be Jay. He’s the one that has a problem with me.” 

“Ian, you said so yourself. Jay wouldn’t do something like this. He wants you back. Not to destroy you.” 

Ian clamped his mouth shut. Mickey was right. He did think that. 

But who then? 

“Ian, it has to be my stalker. This all has to be my stalker. You’ve gotten swept up into the mess and now you’re suffering for it.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense. Your stalker doesn’t make any sense.” Ian shook his head, confused. 

Maybe that weed was a bad idea. 

Mickey cocks his head to the side. “What do you mean?” 

“One second, your stalker wants you. Loves and adores you. Hates anyone that’s close to you because they want that closeness. The next second, they’re calling you a faggot and wishing you dead.” 

Mickey nodded. It wasn’t anything he hadn't thought before. Detective Erickson would have to hear about this. Something wasn’t right. 

Understatement of the century. 

But the stalker was unpredictable. Sometimes acting like a love sick fool, other times acting like they wanted nothing more than to destroy Mickey. It almost felt like being stalked by someone with split personalities or something. It was hard to get a beat on a person like that, because you never knew which version of them you’d be dealing with. 

“The night Jay came to the house, with those flowers.” Mickey started, averting his eyes. “The flowers came with a note.” 

Ian scooted closer, laying his hand on Mickey’s hip. He tried to give him an encouraging smile, but he’s not quite sure he pulled it off. 

“It said ‘I’ll be watching you, love your biggest fan.'” 

Ian sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide. “See? This is what I’m talking about.” 

“And I’ve been getting a lot of calls at work, calling me faggot and sodomite and evil. I mean, I know I get ‘em all the time. But they’ve gotten so bad, I had to get an intern in the studio to screen the calls.” 

Ian’s eyes were wide, his expression stricken. Mickey grimaced. 

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.” Mickey sighed, wrapping Ian in his arms and pulling him down on top of him. Ian huffed as he and Mickey landed tangled on the couch. “I don’t want you to worry.” 

“Mick, of course I’m going to worry. This shit is fucking crazy. And it only started when we started dating.” 

“Don’t even start with that shit again, Ian. I swear to god.” Mickey demanded. He didn’t want to go down this road again with his boyfriend. “Don’t blame yourself for something that’s got nothing to do with you. This fucking psycho was gonna latch onto me no matter who I was dating. That’s how this kinda thing works.” 

Ian nodded, burying his face in Mickey’s neck. “I know, it’s just hard to remember that.” 

“Well I'm gonna keep telling your dumb ass ‘til you believe it.” Mickey said, running his fingers through Ian’s hair. 

Ian huffed a small laugh, nipping at Mickey’s neck. Mickey chuckled, wriggling under Ian’s attack. 

Ian pulled back, staring down at his boyfriend. Sure, things were pretty fucked up right now, but nothing could take away from this right here. Mickey smiling up at Ian like he was the best thing he’d seen all day. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Ian.” Mickey said, still carding his fingers through Ian’s hair. “We’ll call Detective Erickson. Let her know about these new problems. The cops will have to figure something out sooner or later.” 

Mickey wasn’t sure how much he believed that. The police have always been useless to him. But he wasn’t going to tell Ian that. 

Ian nodded, staying silent while Mickey got up to make the call. While Mickey was in the kitchen, on hold with CPD, Diesel wandered back over and jumped up on the couch. He settled right in Ian’s lap, bumping Ian’s hand with his snout until Ian got on board. With a little chuckle, Ian started petting Diesel's head. “Thanks, buddy.” Ian whispered. “I needed this.” 

About ten minutes later, Mickey wandered back in, dropping his phone on the coffee table and curling up behind Ian. He pulled his boyfriend back against his chest, wrapping his arms around his middle. Mickey kissed Ian’s neck, watching with a fond smile as Ian continued to pet his drooling dog. 

“Erickson wants us to come in. Tomorrow. She wants to hear more about the emails and the calls. Wants to hear about what happened at your work today too. She seems to think it could all be the same person.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah. She thinks we have a stalker. Not I have one and you have one. She seems to think the stalker is coming after us both, but for different reasons.” 

Ian huffed, leaning heavier on Mickey. “I guess that makes as much sense as anything else.” 

“Ian...” Mickey started, clearing his throat before he spoke again. “I think it would be best if you stayed here with me for a while.” 

Ian sat up so fast, Diesel went flying off the couch with a yelp. Ian threw an apologetic look at the retreating dog before returning his focus to Mickey. “What?” 

“Yeah, I mean, Erickson and I were talking about the real threat here. If this stalker is one really confused person. A person who’s not only gay, but a self-hating homophobe, they could be very dangerous. If they want me, but hate me. That means they hate you too. Not only cuz you’re gay, but cuz you have what they want: me. So that means you are in a lot of danger. And I’d just feel better if I knew you were safe. You won’t be going to work for a while anyway. You could stay here while I go to work. Keep D company. You know where I keep the gun, and you know how to use it, right?" when Ian nodded, he continued with a small smile. "Besides, I feel a lot safer when you’re here. Me and you together stand a better chance than either of us on our own, yeah?” 

“Well, yeah.” Ian nodded, taking in all the information Mickey just dumped on him. “But how is the stalker even getting in the building. We have a desk with a concierge and a sign-in sheet.” 

“That’s something that Erickson is looking into too. They could be a vendor, or a friend of a resident.” 

“Or another resident.” Ian added, feeling queasy. The idea that their tormentor could be someone they saw every day was disturbing. Someone they said hello to on the elevator. Someone they’d spotted in the gym. 

That level of violation would be too much. 

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed quietly. “or another resident.” 

Mickey didn’t want to consider the fact that someone he shares this space with could be their stalker. Mickey loves this building. He loves his neighbors. He’s made real friends here. And the idea that one of them could be causing him and his boyfriend so much pain? 

Yeah, that would be the worst kind of betrayal. 

Mickey shook off the feeling. No use getting all wound up over something they don’t know yet. 

“C’mon. Let’s go get some of your shit. Then we’ll come back here and do whatever you want.” he stood from the couch, reaching out to pull Ian up. 

Ian took his hand, smiling up at him. 

This shit was a mess, but Ian had Mickey, and that made it bearable. 

They walked over to Ian’s apartment, hand in hand. They seen none of their neighbors in the hall, which is a gift Mickey appreciates. The last thing they need right now is small talk or invasive questions. 

Ian lets them in and Mickey sits on the couch while Ian gathers up some of his belongings, stuffing them into an old duffel bag. Clothes, some toiletries, toothbrush. His laptop and a couple of his favorite toys, just in case. 

Mickey smirks when he sees Ian toss the prostate massager and a set of beads into the bag. 

“What?” Ian smirks. “Always be prepared and all that.” 

“Do you see me complaining?” Mickey grins, waggling his eyebrows. 

Ian chuckles, shaking his head. Finally, he grabs his meds and the rest of the weed, tossing them on top and zipping up the bag. “Ready.” 

“Good.” Mickey smiled, wrapping his arms around Ian’s shoulders. “Cuz now that I saw what you packed, I kinda wanna get you into bed as soon as possible.” 

Ian chuckled, grabbing Mickey by the back of his head and dragging him into a kiss. Mickey stumbled a little under Ian’s power, but recovered quickly. Ian forced Mickey’s lips open with his tongue, his kiss consuming. 

Ugh, this was the Ian Mickey needed right now. The powerful, dominating, ‘I take what I want, you’ll thank me later’ Ian no one ever sees but Mickey. 

Ian kissed Mickey until Mickey was dizzy with the need to breathe, then just as easily pulled back, leaving Mickey gasping and staggering. Ian patted him on the cheek, giving him a dirty smirk. “Let’s go then.” and then he was on his way to the door, Mickey scrambling to catch up. 

They giggled and joked about their kinky plans as they crossed the hallway. But all those words died mid-air as they got to Mickey’s door. 

Sitting on the floor in front of Mickey’s door was a box. About the size of a shoebox, wrapped in red paper. 

“Motherfucker.” Mickey growled, scanning the hallway for any sign of who could have left the package. There was no address written on it, no postage. So it was hand-delivered. 

Mickey bent down to pick it up, but Ian grabbed his shoulder. 

“Mick, what if it’s a bomb? Or some kind of aerosol poison?” 

Mickey glanced at his boyfriend, seeing real fear on his face. Mickey smiled, shaking Ian off and grabbing the box. “I doubt it is all that serious, Ian. Probably something stupid, like the fucking flowers.” he tucked the box under his arm and unlocked his door. 

Ian was unconvinced, but the box was left on Mickey’s doorstep, so it wasn’t really his decision. He followed Mickey inside, dropping his duffel on the couch next to Diesel and following Mickey into the kitchen. 

Mickey was shaking the box. Ian came closer, straining to hear. 

“You hear that?” Mickey asks, putting the box down and grabbing a knife from the block. 

“Yeah, something small, rattling around inside.” Ian said, utterly perplexed. 

“No ticking.” Mickey added, as if only ticking could indicate a bomb. Ian kept his mouth shut, even if he thought Mickey was being entirely too cavalier about a mystery box on his doorstep. 

Mickey split the paper open and tossed it aside. Ian caught it mid-air and threw it on the counter with a roll of his eyes. By the time he was done with that, Mickey had the lid off the box and was staring at it’s contents. 

He looked like he was going to pass out. 

Oh fuck. 

Ian ran over, looking down. He swallowed hard, to keep from puking. 

There, inside the box, was a dead Cardinal. Bright red feathers, clumpy and tacky with blood. Poor little thing’s heart cut out, wrapped up separately with it’s own little macabre black bow. 

Stuffed into the bird’s open body cavity was a rolled up piece of paper. Mickey reached for it. 

Ian’s hand shot out fast, gripping Mickey’s wrist tightly. “Don’t.” 

Mickey shook his hand free, cupping the side of Ian’s face with his palm. “Grab me the tweezers outta that draw. I wanna see what it says, then we’ll call Erickson, okay? We already touched the box, so there’s no use stopping now.” 

Ian nodded, even though Mickey misunderstood him. 

He’s not worried about preserving evidence. He’s worried about what that note says. 

He’s not sure how much more of this he can take. 

Nevertheless, he opened the draw and found the tweezers, passing them to Mickey. 

Mickey used the tweezers to extricate the small piece of paper. He tossed the tweezers aside, unrolling the scrap and reading it, his stomach dropping. 

“What’s it say?” Ian asks, glancing over Mickey’s shoulder. His sharp intake of breath is enough to tell Mickey he read it. 

“Erickson’s right.” Mickey said, staring down at the note. “This is defiantly about the both of us.” 

He tossed the note down, disgusted. 

Ian glanced at it one more time, before letting his eyes fall to the dead cardinal on the counter. 

The note was small, unassuming. One sentence, 

written in black block letters. 

SINCE YOU LIKE RED SO MUCH. 

“Mick.” Ian whispered, going ghostly pale instantly. 

“Shhh.” Mickey replied, grabbing Ian by the wrist and pulling him toward the bedroom. He grabbed Ian’s duffel on the way, calling out for his dog. 

“D! C’mon boy. You’re sleeping in the bed tonight.” 

Mickey dragged Ian into the bedroom, stripping him quickly down to his underwear and tucking him under the covers. Once Ian was in bed, with Diesel at his feet, Mickey ran back to the living room, where he once again called the police. 

While he waited on hold, he put the damn bird in the fridge, gathered the wrapping paper and the note and put it all in a big ziplock bag. He left the evidence on the counter while he grabbed Ian’s meds and a poured a glass of pomegranate juice Mandy had brought over. 

Ian sat up when he Mickey walked in. Mickey handed him his meds and the glass, his phone still tucked between his ear and shoulder. “Yeah, hello. I’m still here.” 

Ian tossed his meds back, sipping his juice before placing the glass on the nightstand and cuddling back up with D. 

All the sexy has been sucked right out of the evening, and Ian just wanted Mickey to come to bed and fucking hold him. 

But he was on the god damn phone with the god damn cops. So Ian and Diesel will just have to wait. 

“Yes, you heard me right. Dead bird. Yes. Detective Erickson. Yes, yes. No, that won’t work. Yes, fine. We’ll be there.” Mickey ended the call and plugged in his charger before stripping his clothes and crawling into bed in his underwear. 

“I had plans tonight.” Mickey grumbled, wrapping his arms around Ian’s middle and burying his face in his neck. Diesel huffed, scooting to the end of the bed. “And now those plans are ruined.” 

Ian hummed in agreement, kissing the top of Mickey’s head. “Yeah, kinda kills the mood, finding a dead animal on your doorstep.” 

Mickey huffed a humorless laugh, throwing his leg over Ian’s hip. “Fucking asshole, thinks he can come between us.” 

“That’s probably the goal, right?” Ian asks, turning the light off, blanketing the room in darkness. It was much earlier than they usually went to bed, but this whole situation was draining on them both. “To tear us apart. To get between us. This person, if it’s one person, they want you. The easiest way to get to you is to get rid of me. Scare me off, or make us hate each other.” 

“Well, that’s not gonna fucking happen.” Mickey growled, getting pissed all over again. 

“No. It’s not.” Ian agreed easily. “We’ll go see Erickson tomorrow after your show. We’ll tell her about every single thing that’s happened. All of it. We’ll let her take it from here. They have tech we don’t. They can track this asshole. They can trace the emails and messages and all that stuff. They’ll find out if it’s really one person. They’ll figure it all out, arrest this prick, and we can move on with our lives.” 

“Our life.” Mickey corrected quietly. “We can move on with our life, together.” 

“Yeah, Mick.” Ian smiled into the dark. He rolled over, pulling Mickey with him. He tucked Mickey’s smaller body against his own, squeezing him tightly. “Whatever happens next, we’re in this together.” 

It was silent between them after that. Mickey felt as Ian fell asleep beside him. His nighttime meds made it hard for him to stay awake long. For Mickey, sleep was more elusive. 

He laid awake long into the night, running his fingers through Ian’s hair, his mind a jumbled mess of anxiety and anger. 

Whoever this fucker was, Mickey was done playing defense. 

Mickey sighed into the darkness, feeling a strange sort of peace wash over him. Here, in his bed, with Ian and his dog, he felt like he could face anything. 

The stalker may have the upper hand now, but that prick has no idea what he’s done. 

He’s pissed of a Milkovich. 

And that never ends well for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is getting a bit darker than i intended? i suppose it could be a sign of the times, or maybe i'm just a creepy bitch at heart. either way, i hope you're still with me. 
> 
> catch you on the flipside. 
> 
> ps: yes, i stole Mr. Frond from Bob's Burgers. it's one of my favorite cartoons ;) 
> 
> pps: gorilla glue is a specific strain of high end weed that is popular where i live.


	5. Crime in the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Marcia Erickson has seen a lot in her long and storied career. But the case of Mr. Milkovich's stalker is giving even her pause. As she makes her way through the building, interviewing residents, she's finding more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit different. The chapter is told almost exclusively from the POV of Detective Erickson. This chapter wasn't even in the original outline, but I think it's important to see things from an outside perspective sometimes. I hope the fact that our boys are barely in this chapter isn't a turn off, but Ian & Mick can't be around for every bit of the investigation. I hope that makes sense.
> 
> chapter title from Crime in the City, by Neil Young.

“So, I think we’ve got all we need from you gentlemen for now.” Detective Erickson said, shuffling some papers on her desk. “I’ll have Cyber Crimes look into the documents and emails you sent over. We have Forensics on the...bird. And we got the warrant to trace those unsavory calls to your radio show, Mr. Milkovich, and we’re going to try to back-trace the calls to your employer, Mr. Gallagher.” the petite woman glances up at them, giving them a small smile. 

Marcia was a god damn professional, and Mickey has to begrudgingly admit he almost likes her. She has listened to every crazy thing they’ve said since this bullshit started, never doubted them, never insinuated that they was overreacting or being too sensitive. She took them both seriously, took them at their word, and took copious notes. 

Marcia Erickson made Mickey feel like this whackjob of a stalker would actually be caught. 

“Thank you.” Mickey replied earnestly, giving the detective a small, tired smile. 

“As for you, Mr. Gallagher.” Marcia said, turning to a very pale Ian. “I think Mr. Milkovich is right. I think, if it is okay with you, that you and Mr. Milkovich should stay together for the time being. I want to look into this complaint at your work. I’ve already left a message with the lawyer you mentioned. If this complaint is the work of the stalker, they may have been a little more careless than they’ve been with Mr. Milkovich. We may be able to trace those communications easier, if we’re lucky.” 

“Don’t feel very lucky right now.” Ian muttered petulantly. He needs to go home. It's very late and he needs to take his meds and get some rest. He won’t let this stalker fuck up his routine along with everything else. 

Mickey hummed, wrapping an arm around Ian’s shoulder. Ian had to hunch down in his seat to accommodate his boyfriend, but he felt safe and protected in Mickey’s embrace, so a little strain to his back didn’t even register. “We’re gonna catch this fucker, Ian.” 

Mickey was scared, sure. But mostly he was pissed the fuck off. He has always known being semi-famous came with risks, and he took those risks on willingly. He takes the bad with the good. He loves his job, and all the good work he does through the station. He refuses to let ugly fans take that from him. 

But Ian never asked for this. He’s found himself in this situation because he fell in bed with Mickey. Fell into Mickey’s mess of a life and burrowed down in it. Mickey doesn’t want to lose him, but he can’t help but feel guilty for dragging him into this chaos. 

After speaking with Marcia, the idea that Ian’s pathetic ex could be the stalker almost feels laughable. Marcia has told them that she won’t discount any suspects without exonerating evidence, but Jay doesn’t have the computer skills or the connections to be pulling this off on his own. 

Mickey had thought Ian would feel better after hearing that, but he’d only paled further, curling further into himself. 

“Okay then.” Marcia said, finally standing from the table. Ian and Mickey stood as well. “I think I have all I need for right now. You may see me down at your building in the next few days, looking around and interviewing some people. I’ll come up to your apartment, Mr. Milkovich, check in with you guys. If anything occurs in the interim, please don’t hesitate to call me on my cell. Night or day, gentlemen.” she held out her hand. Mickey shook it, then Ian. “Have a pleasant evening, guys. Try to get some rest.” 

Ian huffed out a humorless laugh. “Thanks Marcia. We’ll try.” 

Mickey smiled at the detective on last time, giving her a little wave before lacing his fingers with Ian’s and leading him out of the room. They walked through the police station, clinging to each other until they were back on the street. 

Mickey led Ian over to his car, opened his door for him. Ian dropped into his seat, staring blankly into space as Mickey buckled his seat belt for him. 

Mickey ran over to the driver's side and slipped into his seat. He shot his boyfriend a worried look as he started the car and piloted them back toward the condo. 

Ian didn’t say a word the whole way back. Mickey didn’t press him. 

Mickey had no clue what to say either. 

*** 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Ian insisted for what had to be the fifth time. “I’m fine.” 

“I know you are.” Mickey replied with a smile. He shoveled some eggs onto Ian’s plate and then his own. “I want to. Kenny and Lex have it under control. Besides, I was going to take today anyway. I wanna check out some venues for the Blitzkrieg show.” 

Ian rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything, choosing to tuck into his breakfast instead of calling his boyfriend on his obvious bullshit. 

Sure, WROX is doing their annual Metal Blitzkrieg show in a couple months, but Ian is positive that Mickey has assistants and interns that do the leg work for him. Shopping for venues and connecting with bands and special guests is not the work of the star of the show. 

But Mickey told Ian he wanted to take the day off to do this, and he wanted Ian to join him. It’s not like Ian has anywhere else to be, and spending the day with Mickey is always high up on Ian’s priority list. 

So he just took a sip of his coffee and hummed noncommittally. 

“Ian.” Mickey sighed, dropping his fork with a clatter. “I want to do this. With you.” he looked up to find Ian already watching him, sad green eyes splitting him wide open. “I know you think I’m babying you because of the stalker, but that’s not what this is at all. I like having you around. I want you to be part of this event. Yes, the stalker shit is scary, but fuck that person, honestly. Do you want to help me plan the Blitzkrieg?” 

“Yeah, Mick.” Ian replied, a soft smile forming on his face. “Of course I do.” 

“Then quit acting like a martyr and let’s do this damn thing.” Mickey huffed, snapping a piece of bacon with his teeth. “I want you there. Please.” 

“Okay, Mick.” Ian replied, smiling. “Whatever you want.” 

“Damn right, whatever I want.” Mickey grumbled, sipping his coffee. 

Ian huffed, but smiled. 

It’s the first real smile Mickey’s seen on his face in two days. 

*** 

“Honeybear, get the door!” 

“I’m busy! You get it.” 

“Dear, watching Real Housewives does not make you busy. My hands are covered in raw eggs! Get the door, please.” 

Cal grumbled, pausing the TV and crawling off the couch. He wrapped himself in his favorite afghan, stuffing his feet into his bunny slippers and shuffling toward the door. “You’re awful, Teddy. I was so comfy.” 

“I’ll make it up to you. With these cookies.” Teddy hollers back. Cal could hear the smirk in his husband's voice. He rolled his eyes with a smile as he unlocked the door and opens it, expecting to see Deidre from 3H, returning the copy of Pride and Prejudice he’d lent her last month. 

It’s not Deidre at the door, however. It’s a rather severe looking woman in the most ill-fitting, blandest pants suit Cal’s ever had the displeasure of seeing. She’s shorter than Cal by at least six inches, with mousy, stringy hair and the dullest brown eyes he’s ever seen. She could really benefit from some eye shadow too. Little bit of mascara never hurt a girl... 

Cal tries not to judge people on appearance, but this woman gives him some serious ‘no-nonsense, don’t fuck with me’ vibes. 

Cal suddenly has the odd urge to call his lawyer. 

“Um, can I help you?” he asks tentatively, keeping the door closed most of the way. They’ve got nothing to hide, but he can’t help but feel wary under her scrutinous gaze. 

“Calvin and Theodore Miller?” the woman asked, eyebrows raised. 

Cal blanched, sudden anxiety spiking in his blood. “Teddy. Come here please. Now.” 

Teddy must have heard the hitch in his voice, because he was at Cal’s side in an instant, wiping his hands on a dish towel. 

“I’m Ted, and this is my husband Cal.” Teddy said, voice even and calm in a way that had Cal relaxing instantly. “What can we do for you?” 

“My name is Marcia Erickson. I’m a detective with the Chicago PD. I’m investigating an open stalking case for your neighbors, Mickey Milkovich and Ian Gallagher. I’ve been led to believe you are friendly with them?” 

Cal blanched, all the color draining out of his face as his whole body went cold. “What?” 

“Ms. Erickson, please come in.” Teddy said, pulling Cal to the side and holding the door open for the detective. 

“Thank you, Mr. Miller. I’ll only take a moment of your time.” the detective replied, nodding. 

“Can I get you anything?” Cal asked, moving toward the kitchen. “Coffee? Tea? Latte? Whiskey?” 

Detective Erickson gave Cal a curious look. Oh, that’s right, it’s barely noon. 

“I’m fine, thanks.” the detective replied kindly. 

“Please sit.” Teddy said, motioning to one of their empty arm chairs. She sat with a nod of thanks. Teddy sat back on the couch with Cal, wrapped back up in his afghan. Teddy pulled Cal to his side, wrapping his arm around him protectively. “Now, how can we help you?” 

*** 

Marcia was disappointed to learn that Theodore and Calvin had no real information for her. Regardless of their close friendship with the victims of the stalking case, neither man could give her any helpful information on the case. 

They hadn’t seen anyone suspicious in or around the building. They hadn’t noticed anything off the night of the party, apart from Ian’s ex, who had been tentatively cleared. They haven’t seen Ian or Mickey with anyone new or unsavory lately. Life in the building has been normal, as far as the Millers are concerned. 

Marcia wrote it all down anyway, thanking the men for their time and moving onto the next apartment. 

Marcia talked to a lot of people that day. An elderly couple, the Levis, that swears Ian is the nicest young man they’ve ever met. Fetching their mail for them and walking their shih tzu, Tank. They had glowing praise for Mickey as well, informing Marcia that he once ran off a would-be robber in the lobby of the building who tried to steal Mrs. Levi’s purse. Apparently, Mr. Milkovich has a mean right hook. 

Marcia wrote that down. 

She talked to so many people, each of whom had at least a kind word for the radio DJ. Seems his accountant boyfriend is not as well known in the building, but still, no one has anything negative to say about him. 

Things take an odd turn when Marcia knocks on the door to 8M. 

Marcia knocks and takes a step back. She can hear classical music coming from the other side of the door. She waits and waits, knocking again, louder, when no one comes to the door. 

Finally, the door swings open and Marcia is face to face with a tall blond in next to no clothing. She’s wearing tight black leotard and pink tights. Her hair is pulled up into a severe bun at the base of her skull, and she’s covered in sweat. 

“Um, yes?” she asked, eyeing Marcia disdainfully. 

Well, okay then. 

"Hello, my name is Marcia Erickson. I’m here to speak to the residents of this apartment. Ms. Nina Milano and Jenna Phelps?” 

“Jen? Who’s at the door? We’re supposed to be rehearsing.” a voice called from deeper inside the apartment. 

A smaller brunet girl came bounding to the door, wearing a similar outfit. Purple leotard, white tights, bright yellow leg-warmers. 

“Um. This chick...” Jenna started. 

“Detective.” Marcia corrected. “I’m here to ask you some questions about your neighbors, Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich.” 

“Ugh.” Nina groaned. “We’re, like, real busy.” 

“Yeah.” Jenna agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ve got auditions for Cinderella coming up, and we really don’t have time to gossip.” 

“Miss.” Marcia interrupted, giving the women her sternest glare. “This is a criminal matter. A very serious one. Your neighbors are in real danger here, and everyone in this building is a suspect until they’re cleared by the police.” 

Nina gaped, turning toward her friend. “Jen?” 

Jenna huffed, turning on her heel and stomping back into the living space. Very loud for a ballerina, but Marcia decided not to comment on that. She followed to two women back toward the rear of the apartment. 

Instead of a normal living room, Marcia was somewhat stunned to find an open space for dancing set up in the back of the apartment. 

The back room was devoid of furniture, with the exception of a low table with a stereo on it, a minuscule love set in front of a bay window, and a bar running along the perimeter of the room, which was lined with mirrors. There was a small bistro set near the kitchen, where Marcia seated herself without asking. It looked like a proper dance studio. 

Marcia had to wonder what the downstairs neighbors thought off all this. 

“So, like, what do you want to know?” Nina asked, crossing her legs and sitting on love seat. Jenna sat down too, practically on top of her friend. 

If Marcia hadn’t heard from the Millers an hour earlier about these girls’ interactions with Ian and Mickey both, she’d have guessed they were lesbians. 

As if to prove Marcia's point, Jenna wrapped a slender arm around Nina’s shoulder, pulling the brunet tight against her body. 

“Can we speed this up?” Jenna asked, frowning. “We really do have work to do.” 

“Very well.” Marcia replied, pulling her phone out of her pocket and hitting record before holding the device up closer to the pair. She took out her tiny notebook, pen poised and ready. “It has come to my attention that the two of you have had run ins with both Mr. Milkovich and Mr. Gallagher.” 

“Well, yeah. We do live in the same building.” Nina said. 

“Yes, Miss.” Marcia replied levelly. “But I’m talking about the night of the fifteenth. Mr. Milkovich had a dinner party at his home. I was told that you ran into Mr. Milkovich that evening?” 

Jenna laughed, smirking. “If that’s what you want to call it.” 

Nina giggled. “If you want me to be honest, we hit on him twice. And I think we hit on his boyfriend a couple times too. See, we’re new in town, and we had, like, no idea that this entire building was stocked with super hot gay dudes. It’s like impossible to get good dick in this place.” 

“Nina!” Jenna yelped, slapping her friend’s shoulder. 

Marcia bit the inside of her lip to keep from grinning. 

Keep it professional, Erickson. 

“So, after your run-in with Mr. Milkovich on the night of the dinner party, did you remain in the building?” 

“Um, no.” Jenna answered. “We went out for drinks with Scarlet, a girl who just moved into the building.” 

“Oh?” Marcia replied, cocking an eyebrow. “Scarlet?” 

“Yeah, Scarlet Johnson. She lives up on the ninth floor.” Jenna replied, glancing at her friend. Nina nodded. 

Marcia wrote that down. 

“Yep. Scarlet’s a super sweet girl. Kinda shy, but being new in the building will do that. And, like, she’s had a real hard time lately, with her dad going to jail and her...ouch.” Nina turned to glare a Jenna, who’d just elbowed her in the ribs. “What?” 

“Maybe don’t spill all Scarlet’s personal business to this detective.” Jenna hissed. “It’s got nothing to do with Mickey’s problem.” 

“What do you know of Mr. Milkovich’s problem?” Marcia pressed. 

“Just what we heard around the building. He’s got a creepy stalker, like those Lifetime movies. It’s all over the building.” 

Marcia sighed. That’s going to make things difficult. Building gossip always diluted the truth. 

“So, back to the night of the dinner party...” Marcia steered the question away from rumors and onto facts she could corroborate. 

“Oh, right.” Nina nodded. “So, we asked Mickey to go out with us. He told us he was gay. We didn’t believe him, so we were, like, kinda put out? But it was whatever. We went out to WetBar for drinks with Scarlet. We stayed for like, what, Jenna? Three hours?” 

“We did.” Jenna agreed. “But Scarlet only stayed for one drink.” 

“Oh! That’s right.” Nina replied. “She told us she had to get home to her brother. That her mom was, like, out for the night or whatever.” 

“So it was just the two of us after that. Until we met up with Kenny and Roy. Two of the dancers from our company. We went dancing after that. We hit up Danze, and then finished off the night at Black Bell.” 

“Yeah, Kenny walked us home. Around one in the morning.” 

Marcia nodded, taking note of the timeline. If the ballerina’s alibi could be corroborated, there was no way they could have left the bird on Mickey’s doorstep. 

Marcia would have to do a bit more legwork, but she was fairly confident she could write off the dancers and the Millers as suspects. 

“Okay, ladies.” Marcia said, moving to stand. “I appreciate all your help.” 

“No problem.” Jenna replied, walking the detective to the door. “We may have gotten off on the wrong foot with Ian and Mickey, but we really hope we can put all that behind us.” 

“Yeah.” Nina agreed. “Everyone in the building is so nice, even if all the men are gay. We really wanna make a good impression. Make friends. Ian and Mickey invited us to movie night! We don’t hate them. We are actually really embarrassed by how desperate we acted, and are really glad he and his boyfriend aren’t holding it against us. We certainly don’t want to hurt them.” 

“And I’d throw up if I ever tried to kill a bird.” Jenna said. “I mean, poor, innocent creature.” 

“Ms. Phelps, how did you know about the bird?” Marcia asked, quirking and eyebrow. She knows she did not mention that fact to these women. It was a detail she left out deliberately. 

Jenna stammered, glancing between the detective and her roommate. “Well, you know. Building gossip. Everyone’s been talking about it.” 

“Oh, of course.” Marcia nodded, giving the women a small smile. 

It was a lie, she knew that. She’s spoken with dozens of people today, and no one else has mentioned the cardinal. Marcia had not brought it up, waiting for someone in the building to mention it, hoping it could lead her to the stalker. 

“You know how it goes.” Jenna continued. “Everybody talks.” 

“Are you sure you don’t recall who mentioned it?” Marcia pressed. 

Jenna cocked her head to the side, considering, then shook her head. “Sorry. I really can’t think of who it was. Could have been one of twenty people.” 

“Okay then.” Marcia relented, standing. She handed one of her business cards to Nina. “If you remember anything else, please call me. Night or day.” 

“Of course.” Jenna replied, giving the detective a bright smile. She led Marcia out of the apartment, locking the door behind her before trudging back to the living room and dropping down on the love seat. 

Nina pulled her into her arms, resting their foreheads together. “Ugh, that was awkward.” 

Jenna nodded, frowning. “I’m kinda worried about Ian and Mickey.” 

“I mean, the cops are on it?” Nina replied. “It can’t be that serious, right?” 

“I dunno.” Jenna said, brow furrowed. “Seems like a big deal. Dead animals and shit? That’s very Silence of the Lambs to me.” 

“Yeah.” Nina nodded. “But if that’s the case, why didn’t you tell her...” 

“Nina, I don’t even know if that has anything to do with it. I don’t wanna start trouble.” 

“But Jules...” 

“Nina.” Julia bit out. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s probably nothing. We don’t want the police to get the wrong idea.” 

Nina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you say so. I just think....” 

“I say so.” Jenna interrupted. “Now get the hell up and let’s rehearse that dance number.” 

Nina sighed, irritated that Jenna was dismissing her concerns, but knowing the discussion was over for the time being. So she walked over to the stereo and turned on their song. 

Both women took their places, second position. When their cue came, they started dancing, whirling around each other, swaying to the music. 

Lost in their ballet, the pair let their worries of police and stalkers and gay neighbors fade out of their minds. 

*** 

After an interesting, but ultimately fruitless conversation with Mrs. McArthur in 8I, Marcia made her way to 8A. She’s almost done with this floor, and she heard from the doorman and Damian on the fourth floor might just be a bit crazy, and gets home around six. After that, the entire building has been swept, except for the ninth floor, which holds four more apartments. 

Marcia cannot wait to be done with this. She usually has help canvassing like this, but there was a triple homicide on the south side this morning, so she’s on her own. 

Marcia stands in front of 8A, checking her notes. This is the home of Theresa and Trent Landis. Recently divorced, the mother works in an office downtown. Son makes good grades. Neither have ever been in trouble with the law. This should be a simple question and answer session. 

Marcia’s starving, and her feet hurt. But this is important, so she puts on her most professional face and knocks. 

The door swings open and Marcia is face to face with a petite brunette woman with green eyes. She’s wearing a long, bulky sweater and leggings, barefoot. “Can I help you?” she asks with a smile. 

“Theresa Landis?” 

“Yes, that’s me.” 

“My name is Detective Marcia Erickson, and I have a couple of questions for you about an open case regarding Mickey Milkovich and Ian Gallagher?” 

“Ah, the stalker.” Theresa nodded, frowning. 

Just then a teenage boy comes up behind her. He’s got her features. Same dark hair, same green eyes. He’s wearing sweatpants and a Slayer t-shirt. Looks like both of them are in for the night. 

“Mom?” he asked, eyeing Marcia with subtle suspicion. 

“It’s fine, Trent. This woman is here to help Ian and Mickey.” 

“Yeah?” Trent’s face lights up and he smiles at Marcia like she’s done him a great service. “Come in.” he begged. “We want to help.” 

Marcia gave the boy a warm smile, stepping into the apartment. She followed him and his mother into their living room, sitting on the couch when Theresa offers her a seat. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Theresa asked politely. 

“No, thank you.” Marcia smiled. “I’ve been at this for hours now. I’ve had no less than three cups of coffee, two teas, and one surprisingly nice lime ricky.” 

“Ah, you’ve spoken with Mrs. M.” Theresa chuckled. Marcia nodded along, grinning back. 

“She’s very kind.” 

“She is.” Trent piped up. “As long as you don’t sneak up on her. Old lady maced Marcus.” 

Marcia glanced over at the teen. “Marcus?” 

“Um, yeah. He lives up on nine. He’s new in the building.” 

“And your elderly neighbor maced him?” 

“Well, yeah. But it wasn’t Marc’s fault. Mrs. M.’s not all there. She thought he was, like, creeping in the hallways, but he was just coming to see me. We hang out sometimes.” 

“I see.” 

“How can we help you with Mickey’s case?” Theresa asks, sitting next to her son and giving the detective a small smile. 

So Marcia asked all her questions. Where they were when Jay showed up, where they were when the bird was delivered. If she could have access to their phone records and internet history. While it was invasive, no one in the building had denied her. All of the residents so far had been eager to help. Mickey was well loved in the building, and Ian, though a bit more of a recluse, did not seem to have any enemies either. 

Theresa and Trent were clearly very close with both men. Trent told her countless stories about Mickey, how he’d helped him and his mom paint their living room, how he’d brought his mother in on some charity projects with the radio station. 

It was clear to Marcia that the boy had a bit of hero worship going on, which was understandable, seeing as how his own father was out of the picture. But nothing either of them said gave Marcia reason to believe either of them could be involved in the stalking. 

Not that she was ready to write them off just yet. Looks can be deceiving, and Marcia has been doing this long enough to know that a nice, polite front can cover for some very devious inner workings. 

“Okay, guys.” Marcia said, finishing the note she was taking and checking to see her phone was still recording. “Anything else you can think of, before I get going?” 

“Well, there is one thing, but I don’t think it’s all that important.” Trent said, looking nervous for the first time since Marcia sat down. 

“Why don’t you tell me, and I'll judge if it’s important or not?” Marcia replied, smiling. She didn’t like the way Trent was suddenly shrinking in on himself. Something was up, and she needed to know what. 

“Well, it’s just that, a while ago, Trent and I were up on the roof deck, playing cards. Ian and Mickey were up there, in the hot tub? They were, y’know, making out and stuff. I felt pretty uncomfortable. Like we were intruding on this private moment between them. But Marc really wanted to stay, so we did. Um, while we were playing, he kept looking over to them. Like, watching ‘em real close. I thought he was trying to make me jealous.” Trent said the last part quietly, shooting furtive glances toward his mother, who was watching him very closely. 

“Why would that make you jealous, Trent?” Marcia asked before Theresa could speak. 

Trent sighed, glancing toward his mother once more before locking eyes with Theresa. “Mom already knows this, but I’m bisexual. I’ve had girlfriends before, but I for sure like boys a whole lot. Marcus says he’s straight, but he never acts that way with me. We make out sometimes, but that’s all. Promise.” he looked at his mom again, relaxing when she smiled at him, nodding. “He’s kinda a mess about it, if I’m being honest. He’s embarrassed, I think. I really like him and all. Might even date him if he’d, like, come out. But I just don’t see that happening. His sister is real against that kinda stuff. Dunno how his mom feels, I've never met her.” 

“We’re talking about Marcus and Scarlet Davis, residents of apartment 9C? Mother, Mary Ellen?” Marcia asked, checking her notes. 

“Yeah.” Theresa nodded. “Marcus seems like a nice kid. The sister, I don’t know all that well. She’s kept to herself since moving in. Well, I have seen her with the ballet girls. You’ve met them, I assume?” 

Marcia nodded, trying not to laugh. “Yes, quite interesting women.” 

“That’s one way to put it.” Theresa replied. 

“I don’t like ‘em.” Trent said, blushing when both women gave him quizzical looks. “What? They treated Mickey like a piece of meat for weeks. Imagine if I'd done that to a girl?” 

Marcia nodded, kid had a point. 

“Anyway, the Davis family. What else can you tell me about them?” 

Theresa shrugged. “Not much, really. They keep to themselves a lot. The only reason I have what little information I do is because of Trent.” she looked over to her son and Trent sighed. 

He really didn’t like talking about his friend behind his back. But this was to help Ian and Mickey. 

“I don’t know all that much.” Trent hedged. “I do know that Trent’s family just moved in after his parents separated. It was real nasty. His dad’s in jail, or at least he was? I’m not sure about all that. I know that Marcus doesn’t want anything to do with him, but Scarlet keeps in contact. It’s like this big thing between the two of them. They fight over their dad a lot.” 

Marcia hummed, writing down that interesting tidbit. No one else in the building had information on the Davis family. Trent was really helping her right now. 

“Do you happen to know what he was convicted of?” 

“Um, no.” Trent shook his head. “Marc really doesn’t like to talk about it. All I know is that he did something bad at his work. Like, stole money or something.” 

“Embezzlement?” 

“Yeah.” Trent nodded. “That’s the word Marc used. I don’t know anything else about it, honest.” 

“That’s fine.” Marcia replied, smiling. “Thank you, Trent, that is all very helpful.” 

“I just don’t like talking about him when he’s not here.” Trent admitted. “Feels like I’m selling him out.” 

“Trent.” Theresa sighed, but Marcia put a hand up, smiling again. 

“Trent, I know it feels that way, but Mickey and Ian are in very real danger. I don’t know if your friend is involved or not. But if he were, and either Ian or Mickey got hurt, how would you feel then?” 

Trent sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I get it.” 

“I know this is a lot.” Marcia said, moving to stand. “And you didn’t ask to be involved in this. But Ian and Mickey both speak very highly of you. Consider you their friend. What you did today will help them. We’re gonna catch this person. And all of you can move on from this mess. Okay?” 

“Yes, thank you.” Theresa said, walking Marcia to the door. Marcia handed Theresa one of her cards, suggesting she call with any further information. 

“We will.” Theresa promised, taking the card. “Thank you.” 

Marcia nodded stepping out of the apartment and back into the hallway. 

Once they were alone again, Theresa walked over to her son and sat down next to him on the couch, arms open. Trent sighed, falling into the embrace. 

“It’s okay, kiddo.” Theresa said, clutching her son tightly. 

“I really like him, mom.” Trent replied, voice hoarse. “What if...” 

“Kid, don’t.” Theresa cut him off. “Detective Erickson said it’s protocol. She’s just being thorough. I’m sure Marcus has nothing to do with any of this.” 

Trent nodded, sniffling. 

“Oh kiddo, you did good.” Theresa said, her own eyes tearing up. “Brave of you to tell her about your feelings for Marcus.” 

“M’sorry I didn’t tell you.” Trent replied. “Was nothing to tell, not really.” 

“I’m not mad, Trent. You’re allowed your own things. Private things.” 

“Thanks mom.” 

“I wonder if Ian and Mickey would like to have dinner with us tomorrow night.” 

“Mom, tomorrow’s movie night, remember?” 

“Ah, yes.” Theresa nodded. “Well, we’ll make some snacks then, how about that? You can ask Marcus if he wants to help us.” 

“Sounds good, Mom. Can we make that Chex mix shit? With the chocolate?” 

Theresa laughed, nodding. “Sure thing, kid.” 

Trent smiled, but didn’t move to pull away. He just let his mother hold him. 

Theresa held him tight. He son may be growing up fast, but sometimes, a kid just needed his mom. 

*** 

Marcia stepped off the elevator and made her way down the hall. She’d spoken to every single person who was home in the building. (Damian in 4C was interesting. He had strong beliefs on the government and aliens and consensual sexual slavery, but his night job precluded him from being a suspect. Marcia kept his information, just in case.) She’d left cards on the doors where she got no answer. She was beyond tired at this point, really wishing she’d stop to have lunch at least. She can get a bit over-zealous when on a case that really matters to her. 

All her cases matter to her, of course. But certain ones hit her very hard. Marcia tries not to let her personal feeling interfere with her work, but the thought of her brother, the most fabulous gay man she’s ever met, dealing with any of the hate that Mickey and Ian have seen, well, that just grates on her. 

If anything like this every happened to Adam, Marcia would rain hell down on earth until she caught the person and sent them to prison to rot. 

Marcia sighed, pushing the thoughts of her brother out of her head. She’d call him after all this was done. Checking in with him always soothed her after a hard day at work. 

She made her way to the Davis apartment, knocking once and stepping back. This should be quick. Just a few questions, make some connections, hopefully be on he way to pick up some Pho before her show starts at eight. 

When she got no answer, she knocked again, doing her best to remain patient. 

When the door swung open, she was greeted by a young girl in her twenties. Thin, with a oval face and deep green eyes. He red hair was loose, flowing around her shoulders. She was wearing a blue tank top and gray sweats. She stood with the door open on a sliver, glaring at Marcia like she’d done her some great disservice. 

“Yes?” 

“Hello, my name is Detective Marcia Erickson. I am working on a case involving your neighbors, Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich. I’d like to ask you and your family a few questions.” 

“Yeah, no.” Scarlet replied, stone-faced. 

“Excuse me?” 

“My mom’s not here. And my brother is a minor. And even if we could talk, we wouldn’t. We don’t have shit to say to the god damn cops. Good for nothing assholes, every last one of you.” 

“Excuse me?” Marcia repeated, doing her best to composed. 

“You heard me, sister. Now kindly get out of my doorway.” Scarlet sneered, slamming the door in Marcia’s face. 

Marcia stared at the closed door for a few seconds, trying to gather her thoughts. 

“Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all.” Marcia remarked to no one in particular. She made a note of the encounter in her notebook, then walked back to the elevator. Ian and Mickey said they’d be home by now. May as well touch base with them before heading out. 

Pho could wait a few more minutes. 

*** 

“Jesus, I’m tired.” Ian groaned, passing Mickey a beer and dropping gracelessly onto the couch. Diesel lumbered over, hopping up on the cushions and dropping his head in Ian’s lap. 

“D!” Mickey barked, swatting the dog’s ass until he growled and jumped back down. “Only one of us gets to put our face on Ian’s crotch, and it ain’t you.” 

“Awe, come on Mick. He was comfy.” Ian chuckled, sipping his beer. 

“And I wanna be comfy too. My damn house. Dog gets all the love. What the fuck.” 

“Oh, you big baby, you know we love you.” Ian replied flippantly, then turned bright red when his brain caught up with his mouth. “I mean...” 

“It’s whatever, Gallagher. I know what you meant.” Mickey smiles, his own heart picking up speed. Does Ian love him? Is it too early for that? Does Mickey love him back? 

He might. 

Fuck! Now is not the time. 

“Besides, who could love this ugly mug? Huh?” Mickey ruffled Diesel’s head, chuckling. 

“Don’t lie, Mick. Anyone can see how much you adore that dog.” Ian smiled. Mickey nodded, smiling back. 

“Guess he kinda grew on me.” 

“So, what did you think about those bars we toured today?” Ian changed the subject, quite certain neither of them were ready to discuss the possibility of love. 

“Well, Milk Bar was cool, but way too small. The Dungeon was big enough, but the feel of the place might be wrong.” 

“Too BDSM.” Ian replied. The bar was nice, but Ian has a feeling all the pictures on the walls would turn off your basic rock fans. People chained to the walls, getting flogged. Or girls hanging from the ceiling by intricate rope knots. There were even tools of the trade on the walls. Gags and restraints, corsets and whips. Ian was intrigued, but he can’t say for sure how Mickey’s more vanilla fans would react. 

“So that’s a no on the first two.” Mickey nodded, referencing his list. “What about Death and Co.?” 

“That was okay. Kinda dirty?” 

Mickey nodded, crossing it off his list. He didn’t want to have to send a cleaning crew in before the event. That is not their responsibility. 

“What about Elixir?” 

Ian hummed, thinking back. They’d seen so many places today. Tried so many signature cocktails, sampled so many bar snack menus. It was hard to keep it all straight. “Is that the one with the massive old school juke box?” 

“Yeah.” Mickey nodded. “I kinda liked that one.” 

“Me too.” Ian agreed, sipping his beer and putting his feet up on the coffee table. Mickey took that as an invitation to put his head in Ian’s lap. He held his notes up in the air, reading them. 

“Well, what’s next then? On the Rocks....” 

For the next half hour, Ian and Mickey went over every bar they’d visited that day, sharing their opinions until they’d narrowed it down. 

“I think we have a winner?” Ian ventured, grinning at his boyfriend. 

“We’re gonna do Low Bar.” Mickey said. “That place has a lot of space, a good menu at the bar and in the kitchen, their stage is perfect for the bands, and they have their own sound system, so we don’t have to worry about that, and they agreed to set up a space for the bands to sell their merch.” 

“And Roy was really nice.” Ian said. “He is a fan of the show, and he’s got a personal stake in the charity you picked.” Ian tacked on that last part quietly, still reeling from Mickey’s declaration earlier in the day, what charity he picked for this concert. 

“It’s okay, right?” Mickey asked, just as quietly. Maybe he should have asked Ian first. But after they talked about the idea at the dinner party, Mickey just couldn’t shake it. The International Bipolar Foundation was a good cause, and Mickey had a personal stake in the game these days. 

“It’s amazing, Mick.” Ian replied, cupping the side of his boyfriend’s face. “I think it’s fucking awesome that you want to use your influence to help people like me. People that need help like I needed it, years ago. And I was so touched whey Roy told us about his daughter.” 

“Yeah.” Mickey agreed quietly. He can’t imagine what that guy has been through. His daughter, refusing her meds, trying to kill herself. Amber is out of the hospital now, but still denying her bipolar diagnosis. Mickey doesn’t even know Roy, but god, does he feel for him. Mickey can’t do a damn thing to help Roy or Amber personally, but he can do this. Raise money to help fight the disease and the stigma that comes with it. “I just wish I could do more.” 

“Oh Mick.” Ian chuckled sadly. “You do so much more than anyone else I’ve ever met.” 

Mickey scoffed, but he could feel himself blushing. “Fuck off, man.” 

“Can’t.” Ian grinned. “Won’t.” he closed the small distance between them, pulling Mickey into a deep kiss. Mickey sighed, opening up easily for his boyfriend. Ian ran his tongue over Mickey’s lips, before dipping in deep to taste him. Mickey groaned, wrapping his arms around Ian’s shoulders. 

Just as it was about to get heated, there was a knock at the door. Mickey checked the time on the cable box. “That has to be Marcia.” he said. “There’s no way the food’s here yet. It takes that damn sushi place you love like an hour to get a simple order out.” 

Ian laughed, standing from the couch. “Don’t act like I'm the only one who likes their food Mick.” 

Mickey scoffed again, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t about to admit that Seaweed had the best shrimp tempura he’s ever had. Ian can fuck right off. 

Mickey sipped his beer, watching his boyfriend move to answer the door. Ian’s always going on about how great Mickey’s ass is, but Mickey thinks the dude needs to take a looking in the mirror. His boyfriend is built as hell, and his ass is a work of art. 

He’s drawn out of his admittedly pervy thoughts by Ian’s voice by the door. 

“Hello, Detective.” Ian’s saying. 

“Ian, please, call me Marcia.” 

Oh shit. 

Mickey obviously didn't forget about Marcia's visit, but he didn't really clean up either. He's hit with a sudden pang of anxiety. He put his beer down on the table and scanned the apartment for anything illegal. It’s an old habit he can’t seem to break. Even if weed is decriminalized now, he can’t seem to stop worrying. He knows there are no illegal weapons in his apartment. His Glock is registered, and the Gerber he’s got in the nightstand is perfectly legal. 

But he’s a Milkovich, and cops in his personal space still freak him out. 

“Come on in.” Ian says, and the next thing Mickey knows, he’s got Ian and Diesel on his left, and Marcia Erickson on his right. She sits in the armchair next to the TV, tiny notebook in her lap, her phone out on the coffee table, recording already. 

“Okay guys, I just wanted to stop by before I left the building. I’ve spoken with most of your neighbors at this point, left cards with those who were unavailable. For the most part, they were all quite helpful. You’ve got yourself a cast of characters in this building.” she chuckled, smiling. 

“You can say that again.” Mickey laughed, grabbing his beer. “Craziest bunch of people I've ever been around, and that’s saying a lot.” 

“Did you learn anything that might help find the stalker?” Ian asked, not wanting to joke or chat like friends. He was too scared to play like nothing was wrong. 

“I can’t disclose that to you, Ian.” Marcia replied, smile fading. “It’s an open investigation and telling you guys anything could compromise that.” 

“You sayin’ we’d blab all over the building?” Mickey asked, gripping Ian’s wrist and pulling him closer. 

“I’m saying that if we want any charges against the perpetrator to stick, we need to go by the book.” Marcia replied calmly. 

“Sorry.” Mickey sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions, pulling Ian back with him. Ian tossed an arm over Mickey’s shoulder, pulling their bodies close together. Diesel whined, curling his body around their legs with a huff that sounded oddly irritated. “We’re just not used to any of this shit.” 

“I understand completely.” Marcia promised, going through her notes. “So, as I said, I talked to most of your neighbors. I think I have most of the information I need for now. Except for one odd run-in I had up on the ninth floor. The Davis family. Are either of them familiar with them?” 

“Babe, isn’t that Marcus’s family?” Ian asked, surprising Mickey. Mickey didn’t know Ian even remembered Marcus. “Trent’s friend?” 

“I think they’re more than friends, but yeah.” Mickey agreed, turning to Marcia. “We don’t know the family all that well. Marcus is friendly with Theresa’s son. Theresa and Trent are friends of ours. We are pretty close, as far as neighbors go. But Marcus’ family doesn’t really interact with the rest of the building.” 

Marcia nodded, scribbling in her pad. “I only ask because when I went upstairs to interview them, the daughter, Scarlet, kinda slammed the door in my face. She was the only person in the building to be uncooperative, and it was curious to me. Do either of you know that family’s backstory?” 

Ian and Mickey shared a look before Mickey sighed. “I only know what Trent told me. And that’s not much. He likes Marcus, I do know that. I know Marcus’s parents are in the middle of a nasty divorce, and the father went away for a couple years for some kinda shit with his old employer.” 

“Do you know what his charges were?” Marcia asked, writing furiously in her notebook. 

“Embezzlement.” Mickey said, confirming what Marcia had heard earlier. “Guess the guy was some kind of prodigy hacker? Used those skills to milk the company he worked at for millions.” 

Marcia nodded, making a note to get the father’s background tomorrow when she was in the office. 

“But from what Trent told me, the guy’s living in some halfway house for parolees right now. Dude is forbidden from using the internet, hardly ever leaves the house he’s living in. They’ve got him on lockdown, pretty much. Just like jail, but with cable tv.” 

“I see.” Marcia replied, not looking up from her notes. This was interesting. A hacker would explain a lot. Although, she was hard pressed to find a motive with a man who’d never met either victim. 

But still, this was good. One semi-solid lead was better than nothing. 

They talked for a few more minutes, until the delivery guy knocked on the door, delivering their sushi. 

Marcia stood up, pocketing her phone and notebook. “Thank you for your time. I’ll let you eat now. I’ll be in touch if I learn anything concrete.” 

“Oh, Marcia.” Mickey said while showing her to the door. “I think you should know, in about a month, my station is doing a charity concert, over at the Lowbar, down on Lovewell Street.” 

“Oh?” Marcia replied, writing that down too. “Well, hopefully in a month we’ll have concluded this nasty business. But if not, we’ll arrange to have some plainclothes detectives at the event. I’ll be there, of course.” 

“Yeah?” Ian asked, hope evident in his tone as he can to stand behind Mickey at the door. He laid his hands on Mickey’s hips, seemingly unable to keep from touching him. Marcia smiled, these two were just adorable. 

“Of course.” Marcia promised. “I wouldn’t let you do anything like that without back-up. We have no idea how far this stalker is willing to take this. I will do my very best to protect you both. You have my word.” 

“Thank you.” Ian said, clearly relieved. 

“You’re very welcome.” Marcia smiled, stepping out the door and into the hallway. “Please call with any concerns you have.” 

“Will do.” Mickey said waving like a werido as he shut the door. 

*** 

Marcia made her way down to the lobby and out to her car, considering all the things she learned today. She’s got a lot of work to do, first of which is researching Mr. Davis. The hacker embezzler who just so happened to be released from prison not even six months ago. 

Something is not right, and Marcia is almost positive the stalker is connected to a resident in that building. 

*** 

“Man, what a mindfuck.” Mickey sighed, shoving another edamame in his mouth. (Only Ian could ever get him to eat salted beans, but damn are they yummy.) 

“I know.” Ian agreed quietly. “I didn’t want to believe it was someone in the building.” 

“Well, according to Marcia, it might not be. Marcus’s dad sounds like a real possibility.” 

“What do we even know about him?” Ian asked, taking another spicy tuna out of the container with his chopsticks. 

“Nothing.” Mickey admitted. “We know jack shit about Marcus’s family. Did you even know that redheaded chick with the ballerinas was related to him?” 

“You know what?” Ian said, placing his take-out on the coffee table. “I don’t wanna talk about this shit anymore.” 

“No?” Mickey smirked, tossing his food aside and slouching down on the couch cushions. 

“Nah.” Ian chuckled, leaning over Mickey’s body. “Fuck all that bullshit. I just wanna be with you.” 

“Well, get to it, then.” Mickey grinned. He huffed out a small laugh as Ian manhandled him up and tore his shirt off, tossing it on the floor. Ian grabbed the lube that he knew Mickey kept in the side table, smirking at his boyfriend's boy scout tenancies. 

They stripped quickly, and before Mickey even knew what was happening, he was riding Ian hard on the couch, head back, eyes pinched shut tight as Ian’s fingers dug into the meat of his ass, guiding his movements. 

Yeah, this is what’s up. The stalker can fuck right off. When Mickey’s in Ian’s orbit, nothing else matters. 

They're gonna be okay, even if Mickey has to kill this stalker with his bare hands. No one is gonna touch this shit he’s got with Ian. 

Mickey spent his whole life thinking he didn’t deserve something this good. Now that he has it, no one is gonna take it from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i've been so MIA. the lockdown and being an essential worker is really taking it's toll on me. add that to my impressive list of physical/mental ailments, and sometimes you just can't produce like you want to. i appreciate your patience, and i am indebted to you. without readers, what are we even doing here? i always say i write for myself, and i do, but i write for you too. so thanks for sticking with me during this chaos.
> 
> Mick's legal weapons: a gerber strong arm serrated knife and a glock 19 gen 5 automatic handgun.
> 
> PS: i don't know a damn thing about the police, or investigation of crime. all my knowledge comes from law & order and ID. so take all this with a grain of salt.


	6. Ballroom Blitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of Mickey's benefit takes a troubling turn when some unexpected guests make an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry this took so long. i don't really have an excuse except the fact that this lock-down shit has pretty much gutted me. i am a dim shadow of my former self, and everything and anything is difficult these days. i'm sure i'm not the only one dealing with virus-related depression, but there you have it. 
> 
> thanks for sticking with me. i really hope i can crawl out of this pit of angst sometime soon. it sucks down here....

“Hey Chicago. This is Mad Dog Mick in the Morning, coming at you on another Monday morning. That was ‘Nothing Else Matters’, from Metallica’s Black Album. Only way to start a Monday is with some heavy, clanging guitars, don’t you think, Kenny?” Mickey hates this banal small talk, but it was part of the show now. He’s expected to project an air of friendship with his co-hosts. It was easy with Kenny. 

Lexi, not so much. 

“Oh yeah, Mick. Don’t even get me started on Cliff Burton. Damn genius, gone too soon.” Kenny replied into his mic, sounding genuinely pained. The guy died in ‘86, and poor Kenny seems genuinely cut up about it. Mickey’s actually too young to remember all that, but he's been a fan of the band since elementary school. “I don’t really dig their newer tunes, but you can’t deny their earlier work is god damn classic.” 

“I don’t know, guys.” Lexi interjected. Even through the mic, the disdain was clear in her voice. “All I hear is a bunch of reverb and out of tune guitars. The lyrics also leave something to be desired.” 

“Oh, come off it, Lex!” Kenny boomed, temper flaring. Mickey knew this was part of the show now. Their numbers have shown that their listeners really enjoy the snarky banter between the hosts. 

Mickey could do without it. 

He lets them go back and forth for a while, putting a hand up to silence them about three minutes later. They both nod and clam right up, miracle of miracles, and Mickey shoots them a lazy thumbs up. 

“Alright guys, don’t forget that this Saturday is Metal Blitzkrieg, down at Low Bar on the North Side. Live music, including local bands like Black Magic, Talon, DeathStar and Molly Flanagan’s Dead, as well as our headliner, straight from New York City, Lamia. We’ll be doing half priced drinks as well as raffles and giveaways. All proceeds go to the International Bipolar Foundation. So please, jump on our website and get your tickets now. We sell out every year, so don’t sleep on it. www.wrox.com. After a word from our sponsors, we’re back on the tunes. Get your requests in now for Power Hour. We’ll be right back with some AC/DC.” 

Mickey nodded to Fitzy, who flipped off the On-Air sign and they were off for the next three minutes. 

Lexi turned away, grabbing her phone, no doubt to start tweeting some bullshit that Legal would have to sort out later. She was awful, in Mickey’s opinion. Her socials were full of conversion therapy articles and thinly veiled racism. Politics were off the fucking table on Mad Dog in the Morning. One heated debate about imprisoning children at the boarder had Tobias and the higher ups on the verge of a collective coronary. 

As a matter of fact, Lexi was already on her second warning with WROX for tweeting some bullshit about gay wedding cakes on one occasion, and an article supporting the confederate flag on another. Mickey’s not sure what the station was thinking, hiring her, but whatever they were angling for, it has failed spectacularly. 

Mickey shook his head, pushing all thoughts of his nasty co-worker out of his head. He picked up his own phone, elated to find a message from his boyfriend waiting for him. 

Ian: hey mick, indian for dinner? Or italian? 

Mickey smiled, reveling in the simple domesticity of it all. Ian hasn’t been staying with him all that long, but he’s integrated himself into Mickey’s life with such ease. Like he was always meant to be there. Mickey’s been having dangerous thoughts for the past couple weeks. Ever since Ian packed a bag and planted himself in Mickey’s condo, Mickey can’t help but wonder what it would be like if he never left. 

Like, after the stalker is caught, after this maniac is convicted and locked the hell up. What if Ian just stayed? What if they sublet Ian’s place and Ian just lived with him? Just set up camp in Mickey’s home, like he had his heart, and never left? 

It was too soon to be thinking this shit. Wasn’t it? Mickey is so new to this shit, never cared about anyone this way. And part of him worries it’s the stress of the stalker binding Ian to him so tightly. But Mickey can’t help the way he feels. 

It doesn’t matter anyway. Mickey’s not going to voice any of these crazy, wildly inappropriate desires. 

It’s just a nice dream to have. 

Me: italian. from luigi’s. chicken parm on ziti. thanks. 

Fitzy waved a hand and Mickey dropped his phone on the desk, adjusting his headphones. Fitzy flipped the switch and Kenny led them into the next song. 

Fitzy passed Mickey some notes on a concert that was coming up in August, giving Mickey a smile. It had been a good day so far, the intern not getting any negative calls. Emails and social media were also devoid of threats. It’s a welcome change, but Mickey can’t help but be suspicious after weeks of endless taunts. 

Whatever, he puts it out of his mind. He and Ian are hoping to meet with Marcia before the benefit to go over any new developments. She's been too busy to touch base personally, but she promised if they were in any real danger, she’d call. 

So, Mickey does his best to relax, adding to the conversation and ignoring Lexi. 

It wasn’t a bad day’s work, and Ian is waiting at home. 

*** 

“D!” Ian laughed, shaking his head. He snapped his fingers at the dog as he fled through the living room and into the kitchen, Mickey’s dirty boxers in his mouth. “Mick’s gonna kill you! Those are fucking Ralph Lauren boxers.” When all he got in reply was growling and the sound of fabric tearing, Ian lurched off the couch, giving chase as Mickey’s beast of a dog hightailed it all over the apartment, leaving scraps of navy blue fabric fluttering in the air behind him. 

Ian had just cornered Diesel in the bedroom when a knock on the door drew his attention. “God damn it. The food.” he sighed, stabbing a finger at Diesel. “Drop that shit and go lay in your bed. I’m still pissed at you.” 

Diesel huffed again, but miraculously listened, spitting out the slobbery remnants of Mickey’s prized boxer briefs and trotting past Ian and back to his cushion in the living room. Ian laughed, he really loves that dumb dog. 

The knock came again, and Ian scrambled to answer it, snagging his wallet off the coffee table on his way to the door. “One second.” 

He wrenched the door open and instead of finding his delivery driver, came face to face with Marcus Davis. 

“Marcus, hey.” Ian said, trying to hide his surprise with a smile. “Mickey’s not here. Did you need something?” 

Marcus eyed Ian warily, lips drawn into a thin line. “Um, well. I wanted to talk to Mickey. It’s important.” 

Ian nodded, taking in the teenager’s appearance. Marcus was in loose basketball shorts and a worn Wu-Tang t-shirt with holes along the neckline. His feet were stuffed into an untied pair of combat boots. His hair looked dirty, and he had bags under his eyes so dark they looked like bruises. He didn’t look so hot. 

“Sorry, kid. Mick just finished up his show. He won’t be home for another half hour.” 

“Fuck.” Marcus replied, nodding. “Shit, I know that. I knew that. Sorry, sorry. I should, I should go.” 

Ian watched, worry growing inside him, as tears sprung from Marcus’s eyes. His breath hitched a little and he pinched his eyes shut. “I should go home.” 

“No, nah.” Ian replied, tentatively gripping Marcus’s forearm. “Come on in. Mick’ll be home soon. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you sort out whatever’s wrong.” 

Marcus eyed him suspiciously for a long moment before nodding and following Ian deeper into the apartment. 

“Have a seat.” he motioned toward the couch as he made his way into the kitchen. “You want a soda?” 

“Um, sure.” Marcus replied. Ian could hear the trepidation in the kid’s voice, the nerves. Ian shook it off. The kid was here to see Mickey, didn’t even like Ian all that much. Neither Marcus nor Trent were all that fond of Ian, and Ian tried not to let it get to him. 

The sound of the fridge opening lured Diesel from his cushion. The dog snuffled, happily trotting over to Ian and nudging at his knee as he pulled out two bottles of classic Coke. Mickey had them shipped from Mexico like a total diva, but they really did taste better than plain old american coke. Diesel was still headbutting him, so he caved, putting both bottles on the counter and fishing out a piece of roast beef from the crisper drawer. He held it out to the dog. 

Diesel yipped happily, snatching the meat right out of Ian’s grasp. Ian chuckled, petting his fuzzy head with a smile. “You dumbass.” 

“So, what, you live her now or something?” 

Ian spun around, startled. He hadn’t heard Marcus get up or come into the kitchen. He was leaning up against the island, arms crossed over his chest, with a fiery expression on his face. His face was still puffy from crying, but it seemed his mood had done a complete one-eighty in the past sixty seconds. 

What the fuck? 

“Um, no.” Ian replied, taken aback once again. “I’m just staying with Mick while some things get figured out.” 

“You mean the reason the cops have been crawling all over this place for the past week. That's cuz of you.” 

“Not me.” Ian replied, shocked that Marcus would imply Ian had done something to cause all this. Of course, Marcus didn’t know Ian. Ian barely knew the kid at all. He’s just a kid from the building that he sees around from time to time. Mickey only knows him through the Landis family. So this line of question, not to mention the entire visit feels very out of character. “Just some stuff with Mickey’s show and some bad fans. Like...um, cyberbullying.” there, that was some vestige of the truth. 

“Scarlet says it’s cuz you’ve got the whole city hating on Mickey for being a faggot.” Marcus replied, snatching up one of the abandoned cokes and snapping the cap off with his teeth. 

Ian winced, at the action and the kid’s words. “Marcus, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t use that word.” Ian didn’t snap at him, but it was a near thing. Wasn’t this kid queer in some way too? Doesn’t he know how offensive that is? “And Mickey’s been out for years. Long before he met me. So that argument is moot.” 

“Is it, though?” Marcus countered, cocking an eyebrow. He looked eerily like Mickey when he did that. 

Ian found it very off putting. 

“It is.” Ian insisted, taking a sip of his coke to keep from saying something very rude. Marcus was just a kid. Ian can’t go off on him like he would a grown man. “Like I said, Mickey’s been out for years. On the show and off it. Our relationship has nothing to do with how his fans choose to act.” even as Ian was saying the words, he knew it was at least partially untrue. But he wasn’t going to explain the complex nuances of homophobia to a child he barely knows. 

“My sister says if Mickey had kept his queer life private, he wouldn’t have any of these problems. If he, like, kept you a secret, it woulda been better for him. Cops came to our house, said Mickey’s got a stalker and it’s cuz of this gay shit. Scarlet says he’d be better off if he’d keep his proclivities in the bedroom. Do you think that’s true?” 

Ian balked at the kid, eyebrows high on his forehead, mouth pinched in a frown. “No, I don’t think that’s true at all. Because even if Mickey stayed in the closet forever, even if he dumped me and never spoke to me again, he’d still be living a lie. And I am speaking from experience when I say that living that lie tears you up inside. I don’t want to get too personal here, Marcus. But when I was younger, I had a hard time coming out. Those few years, when I knew, but couldn’t tell anyone, it weighed on me very much. But once I finally came out, I felt free. Even if I lost some friends along the way. The ones that count stood by me. And I am a better man for it. I’m sure Mickey would agree.” 

“But Mick told Trent his dad disowned him.” Marcus argued, crossing the room and dropping onto Mickey’s couch like he owned the place. Diesel growled from his cushion and Ian shushed him before taking a seat on the other end of the couch. 

Ian didn’t know what to say to Marcus. He had no idea how much Mickey had told Trent about his past. And he felt incredibly uncomfortable discussing these matters without his boyfriend present. 

“Marcus, I can’t tell you Mickey’s story. If he wants to, he can. But I can tell you that any parent that would disown a child over something they can’t control is no parent at all. It might hurt at first, but anyone is better off without that kind of hatred in their life. Do you understand?” 

Marcus huffed, dropping his half empty coke bottle on the coffee table and standing abruptly. “Sure. I guess.” 

Ian stood as well, more confused by the moment. Had he said something wrong? Had he upset Marcus further? God damn it, he should have just waited for Mickey. 

“I gotta go.” Marcus muttered, making a bee line for the door, Ian hot on his heels. 

“What? I thought you wanted to talk to Mickey?” 

“It’s not important.” Marcus replied, wrenching the door open and stumbling into the hallway. “Just forget it. Thanks for the soda.” 

And before Ian could utter another word, Marcus was practically sprinting down the hallway. 

Ian quirked an eyebrow, shutting the door. Diesel wandered over, nudging Ian’s ankle with his snout. Ian glanced down at him and the dog huffed at him. 

“You got me, buddy.” Ian sighed, wandering back into the living room. “I don’t know what that was about either.” 

*** 

Mickey was exhausted. The show had gone well, but Lexi was in rare form, and Kenny was just about as tired of her shit as he was. Poor Fitzy had to break up more than one verbal altercation between Mickey’s co-stars today. Mickey himself had tried to stay out of it. Tobias was on his ass to be some kind of peacekeeper. (just goes to show how little Tobias really knows him.) But if Lexi goes on one more on-air tirade about any hot button right wing issue, Mickey is putting in a formal complaint. Sure, the show is a talk show just as much as it’s a rock show. They discuss current events, and each host is allowed their own opinions. But there are limits to that shit. And once Lexi started touting the (discredited) merits of conversion therapy during a commercial break, Mickey saw red. 

Yeah, something had to be done about the Mistress. She didn’t fit in with Mickey’s show at all. She brought down the energy of the room, her positions on almost every key political issue was diametrically opposed to Mickey’s. Kenny was more of a moderate. Liberal in social issues, but leaning right where money was concerned. Mickey didn’t really agree with Kenny’s views on taxation or government spending, but at least Kenny didn’t think being gay was a choice. 

Mickey sighed. He promised himself he’d leave all this shit back at the station. The last thing his boyfriend needs is to have to deal with Mickey complaining about his intolerant co-host. They hadn’t heard anything from Detective Erickson in days, the Blitzkrieg was coming up on Friday. Ian has been nervous and jumpy for days now, waiting on pins and needles to hear from the police. When it became clear that no call was coming, he had thrown himself into helping Mickey plan the show. He’d been an incredible help, using his suspension from work to run errands for the show, leading Mickey’s poor, ragged interns all over Chicago meeting with bands and vendors. Sometimes, Mickey could accompany him, other times he was busy with other station business. But Ian hadn’t complained once, just smiled and promised he enjoyed every minute of it. 

Ian had also become point man between WROX and the International Bipolar Foundation. Making all the arrangements between the two entities to ensure the benefit ran as smoothly as possible. Theresa had been around too, accompanying Ian to some meetings. But when it came down to it, it was clearly Ian’s benefit. 

Mickey is ridiculously grateful, and terribly impressed. Ian doesn’t give himself enough credit, he’s an incredible man. 

He also doesn’t deserve the stress of this investigation, or the danger of the stalker. But Mickey can’t do anything about all that. 

All he can do is appreciate Ian, love Ian, make sure he feels doted on and precious. 

That thought brings a smile to Mickey’s face. He should do something nice for Ian. Show him how fucking special he is. 

The elevator finally stopped on the eighth floor, doors sliding open with a soft ‘ding.’ Mickey adjusted his messenger bag, making his way into the hallway and down toward his door. He’s just about to slide his key into the deadbolt when his phone dings. Voicemail. He must have missed a call while driving home. He presses ‘one’ and places the phone to his ear while shouldering his way into the apartment, calling for his boyfriend. “Ian? Where you at?” 

The message is from Marcia. “Mr. Milkovich.” her quiet, dispassionate voice trills over the line. It’s obvious to Mickey that she must have been driving when she left the message, he can clearly hear the muted sounds of traffic in the background. “This is Marcia Erickson calling. I just wanted to request that you and Mr. Gallagher please give me a call at your earliest convenience. I have a few new things to go over with you. It's important, but you are in no immediate danger. I unfortunately will be unavailable all-day Wednesday, and most likely part of Thursday. I will be testifying in court on another matter, and I will be unreachable. If you can’t call me back before then, then I'll have to ask that we meet before your engagement on Friday night. As I said before, you are in no immediate danger, but it is imperative that we speak as soon as possible. Thank you, have a good evening.” 

Mickey huffs, dropping his phone back into his pocket and tossing his keys onto his entryway table. He quickly unlaces his boots, flinging them haphazardly into the open coat closet before wandering further into the apartment. Diesel comes bounding over from the living room, growling happily when he sees Mickey. 

“Hey buddy.” Mickey says, smiling down at his dog as he runs a tattooed hand over the top of his head affectionately. He quickly scratches behind Diesel's ear before continuing further into the condo. “Ian?” 

Mickey emerges from the hallway into the living room, smiling as he finds Ian passed out on the couch, bags of takeout on the table, unopened. Mickey rolls his eyes, shooing Diesel toward his bed as he gingerly sits down by Ian’s hips on the couch. He reaches up, still grinning as he runs his fingers through Ian’s wild hair. Ian huffs, his nose scrunching up adorably as he slowly stirs. 

Now, if anyone had told Mickey a year ago that he’d be calling any dude adorable, he’d have laughed in their face. Or scoffed. Or told them the fuck off. But here he is, staring at his sleeping boyfriend like a total creeper. His face hurts, he’s smiling so much. But he just can’t help it. There is just something about Ian that lights Mickey up inside. All of Mickey’s problems, all his issues with work and the stalker, all of that just fades away when he’s in Ian’s orbit. 

God, when did he become such a sappy fucker? Jesus. He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking Ian’s shoulder. “Ian, c’mon kid.” 

Ian groans, stretching his arms out over his head, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Mick?” 

“Yeah, m’home.” Mickey replies quietly, rubbing Ian’s thigh. 

“Mmmm, home.” Ian mumbles sitting up. “I like that.” 

Mickey grins, leaning in for a kiss, but not commenting further. Ian doesn’t live here, it’s temporary. Ian will want to go back to his own place once the stalker is caught. And it’s way too soon for them to move in together anyway. 

Right? 

“Is that the food?” Mickey asks, changing the subject. 

“Yeah.” Ian replied, scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. God, he hadn’t even been tired. He’d just passed out. “Luigis, like you said.” 

“Thanks.” Mickey smiled at Ian, leaning over to peck his lips. He was still getting used to all this. This casual affection. But for every unplanned kiss he planted on Ian’s lips, he was rewarded with one of those sunshine smiles. 

Totally worth it. 

Mickey is constantly surprised by how easy things are with Ian. He’s not stupid enough to question it. 

He gently squeezed Ian’s shoulder before climbing off the couch and heading to the kitchen for plates and a couple beers. He hears Ian’s phone ringing in the living room and suddenly remember Marcia’s call. 

“Hey Marcia.” Ian says and Mickey sighs. Looks like the bitch is a mind reader or some shit. 

Mickey wants to talk to Marcia. Of course he does. He’s eager to catch the stalker and move on with his damn life. But, talking to Marcia always puts Ian in a sour, sad mood. He gets all quiet, worry evident on his face. And Mickey had been naively hoping to speak to Marcia in private and not have to distress Ian any further. 

Stupid, really. Ian is part of this now, and Mickey can’t protect him from that. It wouldn’t be fair to even try. 

So Mickey grabs the plates and the beers and makes his way back to his boyfriend, who is already deep in conversation with the detective. 

When Ian catches Mickey’s eye, he puts the phone on speaker and lays it on the coffee table, taking his plate and drink from Mickey with a nod of thanks. “Marcia, would you mind starting over? I just put you on speaker so Mick can hear too.” Ian pops the tops on the take-out containers and quickly dishes out the food. It smells amazing. Almost good enough to distract Mickey from this god damn phone call. But not quite. 

“Yes, that’s fine.” Marcia’s voice sounds reedy and tinny through Ian’s phone, and Mickey strains to hear while he shoves lasagna in his mouth. Ian got chicken broccoli alfredo, and Mickey almost wants to switch with him. “So, cyber-crimes finally got back to us. We have finally got the trace down to a five mile radius.” 

“Uh, what does that mean?” Mickey asks, hissing as he burns his tongue on some scalding hot tomato sauce. He grabs his beer, chugging a bit to soothe the ache. 

“Well, it means that we’ve traced the emails. The calls were a dead end, since the perpetrator used throw-away burner phones. Probably disposed of them after each call. We are running on the assumption that all the phone calls and emails are from an individual stalker. Our language experts are confident that it’s the same person on every call.” 

“How can you tell?” Mickey interjects. “They used one of those weird voice box things.” Mickey can still recall the chill that went down his spine when he’d first heard the digitized voice. 

“Speech patterns.” Marcia replies, like that clears it up. “The perpetrator uses certain phrases and words repeatedly, on both the phone calls. The emails are another story, but it's common for perpetrators to use different verbiage when speaking as opposed to writing it out. That's not to say the emails are from another party, but we can't rule anything out.” 

“That makes sense.” Ian says, his mind reeling. This is all so far beyond anything he’s ever experienced. Stalkers and detectives and criminal investigators. It’s overwhelming. 

He can’t imagine how Mickey must feel. 

“You said you had a location?” Mickey asks, spearing another bundle of noodles with his fork. “Doesn’t that mean you know where they are? Can’t you just go arrest them?” 

“Not exactly.” Marcia replies, and she sound apologetic. “It took our people all this time to track it because your stalker is quite the hacker. They used proxy servers and DNS spoofing to send us on a wild goose chase. Their IP was bouncing from Moscow to Tokyo to Senegal. It was actually quite advanced. I will admit, we weren’t expecting this type of technical savvy from your stalker. So that’s on us for underestimating them.” 

“Fuck.” Mickey whispers, goosebumps breaking out on the back of his neck. He too thought his stalker was some garden variety homophobic loser, living in his mom’s basement. He doesn’t even know how to begin processing the idea that this person might be some kind of criminal hacker mastermind. 

The cops can’t even pinpoint their location. How are they supposed to catch them? How are they supposed to protect Mickey? Protect Ian? 

Fuck. Fuck. 

“Mick.” Ian says softly, running his hand along Mickey’s shoulder. “Marcia’s still talking, baby.” 

Mickey shakes his head, biting his lip to stave off the tears stinging his eyes. “M’sorry, what?” 

“I said that the five-mile radius is solid. We’ve got our best people on the trace. I need you both to keep your phones on, in case the stalker tries to call back. Are you still planning to host the benefit Friday night?” 

“Fuck yeah we are.” Mickey replies, voice coming out a little harder than he intended. He clears his throat, leans against his boyfriend when Ian pulls him into his arms. “The concert is a contract the station can’t break, and even if we could, the cause is too important to me to flake on it.” 

Ian sighs, squeezing Mickey so hard his ribs ache. But it’s a good ache. He feels safe in Ian’s arms. 

“In that case, we’ll go with the plan we discussed.” Marcia says, clicking away on her phone. “I’ll be at the benefit. Not undercover, per say, but in plainclothes. Along with two members of our S.W.A.T. team, also plainclothes, on the inside of the venue, and a group of uniformed officers outside the concert. If the stalker is dumb enough to show their face, we’ll be ready for them.” 

“Sounds good.” Mickey replies, trying to project an air of confidence he doesn’t feel. 

“Just please, be careful.” Marcia says. “The five mile radius the stalker is operating from includes your neighborhood.” 

Ian makes a choked off noise. Mickey drops his beer and pulls him to his side. He’s upset too. Even though he knew all along the stalker had to be close, he doesn't feel vindicating to be proven right. 

With that, she bids them a good night, promising to keep them abreast of any new information if it comes in before the benefit. 

Ian hangs up the phone, placing it on the coffee table and grabbing their plates. Ian isn’t all that hungry anymore, and Mickey looks like he wants to be sick. Ian bites his lip, unsure what he should be doing. He shakes his head a little, lurching off the couch and heading back to the kitchen. 

Mickey doesn’t stand. He sighs again, feeling tired all the way to his bones. He slides off the couch, feeling listless and distracted, landing with a huff on the area rug. Diesel notices, of course he does. He snuffles a little through his nose, crossing the room and crawling right into Mickey’s lap. He’s way too big, but Mickey doesn’t give a fuck. He just wraps his arms around his dog, buries his face in his fur and breathes. He can hear Ian puttering around in the kitchen. The fridge opening and closing, the sink going on and off. 

Mickey still doesn’t move. He feels Ian hitting the floor right next to him. Feels Ian’s muscular arms curling around his middle, feels Ian’s lips on the back of his neck. 

They sit like that until the sun is gone. The moon shines through the massive windows, illuminating them in weak white light. Mickey holding his dog, Ian holding Mickey. Neither man speaks. 

*** 

“You sure you wanna do this?” Mandy asks, her eyes traveling across the bar. It’s bright inside, being mid-day. The place is empty except for Mickey and Mandy. The show doesn’t start for another few hours, but Mickey’s always been a perfectionist about the show, and he won’t be able to relax until he’s sure everything is all set. He’s already checked in with the bartenders and the food vendors and the bands and the charity. 

Mandy knows for a fact the benefit is ready to go. But Mickey’s been stressed out and anxious for weeks now and it’s spilling over into his work. 

“I gotta make sure it’s all ready to go. This is really important.” 

“Mick, you do these shows every year. You know what you’re doing.” 

“Yeah.” Mickey grunts, moving a microphone stand from one end of the stage to the other. “But this charity is really important to Ian. It means a lot to him, and everything has to be fucking perfect.” 

“Mick...” Mandy slides up next to him on the stage, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure this doesn’t have anything to do with what the detective called me about?” 

“What do you want me to say, Mands?” Mickey asks, turning to face his sister. “That I'm fucking worried? That I'm terrified something’s going to happen to me? Or Ian? Or you? Anyone dumb enough to come out tonight? My fans have no idea what’s happening! What if this asshole stalker pulls some shit like...” he can’t even say it. 

It wouldn’t be the first time a rock club got shot up by a deranged fan. Anyone who’s listened to Pantera knows that sad fact. 

“Mick, Detective Erickson says the place is gonna be surrounded. Metal detectors, all that shit. It’s gonna be fine. I mean, it wouldn’t be ideal if the bastard showed up tonight, but at least they’d finally catch him.” 

“I don’t want that to happen.” Mickey countered. “I don’t want anything like that to happen tonight.” 

“It’s not really up to you, though, is it?” Mandy replied, not unkindly. “All we can do is prepare for it. No matter what, it’ll be okay.” 

Mickey nodded, snagging a beer from behind the bar. No one was there to tell him not to, and he needed to take the edge off. 

He knows Mandy means well, but it’s all empty platitudes at this point. 

The rest of the week had been uneventful. Mickey had thought that would ease his anxiety, but it only served to stress him out further. It felt like the stalker was fucking with him, going deathly silent leading up to this show, hoping to lull Mickey into a sense of false security. 

It had the opposite effect. Mickey has been on high alert all week. He's been short and rude at work, always finding himself apologizing to his team at the end of the day. Everyone has been patient with him, understanding. Except Lexi of course. She's been a thorn in his side all god damn week. She even went so far as to imply that Mickey brought this horror on himself, by pushing his so-called 'gay agenda' on his innocent listeners. 

That shit went right into her HR file. Mickey was fucking done playing nice with her. Every single thing she did that went against WROX's Ethics and Behaviors mission statement got written up and sent to HR. Mickey wanted a fucking paper trail. 

But Mickey knew his sister was right. Stressing and fretting wouldn't do a damn thing. All he could do was his job, and trust the police to do theirs. 

"I've never seen you like this, Mick." Mandy said, watching warily as her brother stared into space, brow furrowed, posture tense. "This isn't even your first rabid fan." Mandy was at a loss. Mickey was one of the toughest people she's ever known. Hardly anything phases him, and even when shit gets tough, Mickey always fights back. It's worrisome to see him so pensive, so unsure. 

"I'm not worried about me, Mands." Mickey says, running his free hand through his hair, agitated. "I'm worried about Ian. He never asked for any of this shit, and I'm worried all this fucking craziness is going to fuck him up real bad. Makes me feel like he'd be better off without me." 

Mandy huffed, crossing the room in three long strides. Once she was face to face with her brother, she socked him hard in the arm. 

"Ow, what the fuck, Mandy!" Mickey yelped, jumping back. Beer sloshed all over his hand and he glowered at his sister, shaking his fingers out angrily. "What the hell was that for?" 

"Stop acting like Ian's some damsel in distress. He's a grown ass man. He knows what he's doing and he wants to be with you. None of this shit is your fault, and if you think Ian would be better off without you cuz of it, you dumber than you look." 

Mickey sighed, nodding. "Yeah. I know." he tossed back the rest of his beer, dropping it down on a nearby table and moving to sit on the raised stage. "I just don't want him to get hurt. I just want him to be happy and fucking safe. Why is that so hard?" 

"It's gonna be okay, Mick. Soon, this fucking psycho will be behind bars, and all of this will be an inappropriate, darkly funny story we tell at those dinner parties Ian loves so much." 

Mickey huffed out a real laugh, shaking his head. “C’mon.” he said, standing and making his way across the room once more. “Come help me get the tables set up for the merch.” 

“I live to serve.” Mandy grumbled, following Mickey to the back room. 

Her brother chuckled, shaking his head. 

Mandy would count that as a win, for now. 

*** 

“Ian, man, that’s some heavy shit.” Lip says, voice quiet. He brings his cigarette to his mouth, taking a deep drag. “Are you sure this dude’s worth all this trouble?” 

Ian sighs, glaring over at his brother as they make their way down the sidewalk. They’re on their way to Lowbar for WROX’s benefit. Ian’s happy Lip agreed to accompany him, since Mickey had to be at the venue hours earlier. But he didn’t invite his brother along to badger him about his relationship. 

After Marcia’s call on Monday, the rest of the week had been tense and a bit depressing. Ian and Theresa spent a lot of time working out the loose ends of the show. He’d been out late a few nights, working out the last of the details with the bar and the bands. No matter how late he got home, Mickey was up waiting for him. They didn’t speak much on those night, just falling into bed, curling around each other. Taking silent comfort when words seemed to fail them both. 

“You’re acting like this is Mick’s fault. It’s not. Every famous person deals with this shit to some degree. And yeah, I won’t lie, it’s fucking scary. But Mick didn’t ask for any of this. He wants me there with him, I'm gonna be there. We're gonna stick together, and when this psycho is caught, we’re gonna put it behind us and move on with life, together.” 

“Ian, it’s real sweet that you’re so devoted after such a short time.” Lip replies, sounding incredibly insincere. “But with your health...” 

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Ian spat, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and spinning him around on the sidewalk. Lip bumped into a middle-aged woman in a Slayer t-shirt and she flipped them both off, but Ian can’t be bothered to care. He’s pissed now. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t use my disorder against me like that. I’m not seventeen anymore. I’m not that sick, scared, confused kid anymore, Lip. I met a guy. He’s good to me. He makes me happy, he likes being around me. We’re good for each other. And I’m not about to let some asshole super fan, or my well-meaning but ultimately clueless brother fuck it up. Okay?” 

Lip chuckled, shaking his head. He took a long drag off his cigarette, eyeing Ian critically for a long moment. 

At last, Lip nods. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, man. You know I only say this shit cuz I worry about you. You’re my little brother, and my best friend. Of course I gotta ask this shit.” 

Ian nodded, shooting his brother a small smile. “Sure, I get that, but you gotta trust me too.” 

“You’re right.” Lip replied, flicking his cigarette into the street. “I’m sorry. You’re doing real good. You know we’re all happy for you. Just, lemme know if it gets worse with this stalker shit. I wanna be there for you, if you need me.” 

Ian sighed, relieved. He may not need Lip like he did when he was a kid, but he still likes knowing his older brother’s got his back. “Thanks Lip.” 

“Of course, man.” Lip chuckled, throwing his arm around Ian’s shoulder. Ian was taller than him, but that never stopped Lip. They limped down the sidewalk, Lip dragging Ian sideways as they lurched forward, laughing. “So, tell me about this charity. The bipolar foundation or whatever. Your boyfriend pick that for you?” 

Ian’s mortified to feel a hot blush breaking out on his face at his brother’s words. “I don’t know about all that. But I can tell you about the organization, if you’re really interested.” 

“Of course I’m fucking interested.” Lip replied, hip checking Ian. “It’s important to you, it’s important to me. So spill already.” 

Ian chuckled once more, then started talking. Ian and Lip talked about the foundation, and the concert, the bands and the radio show as they made their way toward the venue together. 

It was so nice to spend time with his brother, Ian failed to notice they were being followed. 

*** 

“Mandy! Quit fucking hassling that bartender and help Petey and Ben set up the merch table. You’re here to help, not flirt.” Mickey growled, shoving a pile of band t-shirts into her arms as he stormed past her. The show was supposed to start in about an hour. The club was closed until then, but there was already a line out the door. Mickey could hear the familiar ruckus of his fans waiting beyond the walls of the bar. He smiled despite himself. 

Even with all the bullshit going on, it was nice to do something like this. For his fans, and for the International Bipolar foundation. 

Marcia had called earlier, but Mickey had missed her. She left a frankly ominous message on his phone, telling him she was working a very hot lead, and to please call her immediately if anything suspicious happened before she arrives. 

Wonderful. That doesn’t creep him out. Not at all. 

Mickey shoved the thoughts away, heading toward Fitzy and Kenny, who were standing by the stage, chatting with one of the opening band’s roadies. Lexie had yet to show her face and was now officially considered late. 

Mickey wouldn’t mind if she didn’t show up at all. Lexi was honestly the last person he wanted to see. He’d secretly been in talks with Tobias and his lawyers about terminating her contract for the past week. She’s a mean-spirited, judgmental bitch, and her bullshit is bad for the show, and bad for Mickey’s image (no matter how much he hates considering his ‘image’ -- the station says optics are important.) Lexi’s station-sponsored twitter handle had been deactivated on Wednesday over some fake news article she posted about the Illuminati running an organ-harvesting ring with famous actors and musicians. 

It’s never good for business when you accuse the bands on your station of buying livers on the black market. 

It makes no sense, it’s like she’s trying to get fired. At first, Mickey thought Lexi came on with WROX to try and force him out, steal his show. 

Now, it feels like she’s just trying to burn his whole show to the ground. 

Well, get in line, bitch. Mickey’s got bigger problems than your faux leather and botox ass. 

Mickey groaned, running his fingers through his hair in irritation. Where’s Ian? He always helps Mickey keep his fucking head on straight. 

*** 

“I don’t know if we should be doing this.” Trent mumbled, eyeing his brand-new fake ID dubiously. “I mean, if Mickey sees us....” 

“Don’t be a little bitch.” Marcus replied, shoving Trent into a street sign. Trent groaned, rubbing his forehead. 

“Man, watch it.” Trent spat, shoving Marcus back. “You don’t gotta be so violent all the time.” 

“That’s not what you were saying earlier.” Marcus chuckled, grabbing the back of Trent’s neck. He dug his fingers into the dark purple hickies barely hidden by Trent’s Ministry t shirt. 

Trent could feel himself blushing, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Marcus wanted a reaction, he wasn’t gonna get it. Trent wasn’t that easily distracted. 

“Where’d you get these?” Trent asked, waving the brand-new Illinois license in his friend’s face. It looked so real, Trent has never seen a fake look this authentic. “And how much do I owe you?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Marcus waved him off with a smile, throwing an arm around Trent’s shoulder, casual as anything. “I have the money and I wanted to do it. You said you really wanted to go to the show, so I made it happen. Now we just gotta make sure we don’t run into your boyfriend and his boyfriend.” 

“Fuck off, Marc.” Trent groaned, shoving his friend away. “Mick is just a friend. He’s like, way too old for me.” 

“Is that the only reason you’re not trying to jump on his dick?” Marcus shot back, sounding a little pissed. 

“Um, no.” Trent replied, giving his friend a look. “He’s nice and cool and all, but I don’t wanna fuck him, Marc. Promise.” 

Marcus relaxed, nodding. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. Dunno why I freaked out like that.” 

Trent thinks he knows, but he doesn’t wanna blow up Marcus’s spot. Trent’s not opposed to the idea, but he needs to let Marcus come to him. Dude is jumpy on a good day, the last thing wants to do is scare him off. Fooling around is one thing. Making out and jerking each other off. Marcus can play that off as casual, and he does. But being jealous, trying to stake a claim to someone, that’s something else entirely. And Trent is certain Marcus is not ready to go there yet. “It’s cool, man. I get it.” 

Marcus grins at him wolfishly, throwing his arm around his shoulders once again and dragging him toward Lowbar. “You sure your sister’s not gonna be here tonight?” 

“Who, Scarlet?” Trent laughs. “She hates Mick’s show. And she’s been acting so fucking weird lately anyway. She’s never home. Always out with the ballerinas, going to dumbass hipster bars. Sometimes she doesn’t come home for days. Mom’s getting sick of it.” 

“She’s hanging out with the ballerinas?” Marcus asked, confused. “Those bitches are lame.” 

“Yeah, well, so’s my sister, so there you go.” Trent replied as they finally came upon the club. “Fuck, man. This line if so long!” and it was. There had to be at least sixty people in line, snaking down the sidewalk and around the side of the building. 

“Well, we better hurry up and get in line.” Marcus replied, grinning at Trent. He wrapped his fingers around Trent’s wrist, dragging him down the street. “This is gonna be awesome.” 

*** 

The lights finally go down, and the first band takes the stage. Ian and Lip are near the WROX table, sipping beers and chatting with Mandy. The place is fucking packed, and Ian only got to see Mickey for a couple of minutes when the first arrived. Mickey had kissed him stupid then run off, promising to meet back up after the first band was on stage. 

Ian can hear Mickey’s co-host and production team chatting at the table behind them. The girl’s nowhere to be found. Lexi. God, Ian kind of hopes she doesn’t show at all. Ian made the mistake of checking his twitter earlier in the day, and Mistress Lexi's personal page had tagged him in a slew of anti-gay posts. He’s not even sure why. It’s just some hateful article about stripping gay people of their rights, or arresting them, making sure they can’t marry or adopt. And at the end, she tags Ian and Mickey both. 

Ian doesn’t understand it. 

So no, he’s not looking forward to crossing paths with Lexi tonight. But he’s sure it’ll come down to that sooner or later. This is her job after all. 

Ian turns when someone calls his name, and sees a small guy wearing a blood red button down and what looks like leather pants. He’s got short dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses. Black bracelets are bundled up on both wrists, sliver rings on most of his fingers. His exposed arms are covered in black ink Ian can’t make out in the low light of the stage. 

“Ian Gallagher?” the man asks, extending his hand. Ian looks around for Mandy or Lip, but doesn’t see them anywhere. They were just there, and now they are gone. He's alone at the station table, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do. 

“Um, yeah?” Ian replies, hating how unsure he sounds. 

“Ian!” the other man at the table jumps up, almost knocking over the skinny hipster kid. “Man, it’s good to finally meet you. Mick’s told us so much about you.” 

“He has?” Ian has no idea what’s going on right now. 

“Of course he has!” the bigger man replies, smiling. Ian glances at the man, trying to get a read on him. He’s big, heavy around the middle, with shaggy gray hair and a thick beard and mustache. He's wearing a KISS t-shirt and torn jeans, also heavily tatted up. “I’m Kenny Pratt. Mick’s co-host. And this here’s Fitzy, our producer.” 

Ian smiles, relaxing. “Oh, of course. It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“Mickey speaks very highly of you.” Fitzy says, fiddling with his glasses. “Not to get too personal, since we just met, but when he pitched this fundraiser to Tobias and the higher-ups, he spoke quite passionately about the cause, and the man that inspired him to take it up.” 

Ian can feel himself blushing, torn between being embarrassed that these strangers know about his diagnosis, and pride that Mickey clearly cares so much. “Well, it’s a very dear cause to me, and Mickey is very kind to help raise some money for it.” 

“Oh, we’ll do more than raise money for it.” Kenny interjects. “We’re gonna set up a fund, help open a clinic over on the south side. Mental health facility, grants for prescription assistance. There’s even talks of opening a group home, for kids that need more constant care. Mickey’s spearheading the whole initiative. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.” 

Ian’s mouth is hanging open. He doesn’t even know what to say. Fitzy sees his reaction and punched Kenny in the arm, hard. 

“Dude, I think that all might'a been a surprise.” 

Kenny looks mortified. “Oh shit.” 

Ian chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t say anything.” Ian feels warm all over. What is he even supposed to do with all this information? 

Mickey is so good. So kind. 

Kenny chuckles nervously. “I was just excited. It’s good work we do at this station.” 

“It is.” Fitzy agrees, slinging his arm around Kenny’s shoulder and forcing him back to his seat. “Enjoy the show, Ian. Will we see you at the after party?” 

“If that’s where Mick’s gonnna be, that’s where you’ll find me.” 

“Awesome, man.” Fitzy grins at him before turning back to his laptop. 

Ian smiles, turning away again. Mickey's coworkers are nice guys. He can see why Mickey like them. Seems like Lexi really is the odd one out. 

Ian can’t help but wonder where she is, though. 

*** 

Marcia stands in the back of the club, by an emergency exit. She has eyes on all the UC’s in the building. Daniels and Rambau over by the bar, McGinty and Wilson playing pool in the back, Roy and Wong up by the stage. It may feel like overkill, but after what they discovered earlier today, Marcia is taking no chances. 

She’s still not sure, of course. Since she’s been unable to find the suspects and question them. It’s a quagmire, if she’s being honest. It could be any of three people, or all three, or a combination of the suspects. She wants to blame it on the adult, but she’s been alive long enough to know that kids can do horrible shit too. 

The fact of the matter is, all the electronic communications seem to have come from one address. Cyber crimes finally got it narrowed down to one apartment building just outside of downtown. And one of the residents of that building is connected to this case. Well, at least his children are. 

Marcia can’t really connect either Scarlet or Marcus to Shane Davis. There is no formal custody agreement, and he’s only been out of jail for a hundred and eighty days. Marcia can’t place the kids in the apartment at any time before or during this case. But she can’t help but thinking all three of them have to be involved somehow. 

Shane’s not even supposed to have internet access, that is part of his parole agreement. But hackers of Shane Davis’ caliber always find a way around all that. Seems the man has hijacked his way through one of his elderly neighbor’s modem, sucking off his connection and keeping the cops guessing with his proxy servers and spoofing. 

Marcia can still see poor Mr. Marx’s face when the S.W.A.T. team knocked on his door earlier in the day. It was easy to make the connection after she finally got a list of residents from the super. 

Now if only she could figure out why Shane Davis would want to hurt Ian or Mickey. That’s the part she can’t wrap her head around. Sure, they knew his kids, and even had the barest of relationships with Marcus. But that seems like a flimsy reason to torment these two men. That’s what’s bugging her the most. 

The lack of motive. 

She hasn’t seen any of the suspects at the bar yet tonight, but she just can’t shake the feeling that it’s all coming to a head before this concert’s over. 

She shakes her head, placing her half-full glass of coke down on a table as she passes, heading toward Ian. He’s alone and now might be a good time to clue him in. Marcia can see Mickey introducing the first band. The lights go out and the crowd goes wild. Before she’s even halfway across the bar, the moshing starts. The band is so loud, she can barely hear herself think. She surges through the crowd, desperate to get to the other side of the bar. Just because she hasn’t seen any of the suspect tonight doesn’t mean they’re not here. 

Damn it. She gets shoved back a few feet as a mosh pit opens up right in front of her. She glances toward the station’s booth, and Ian is no longer anywhere to be found. Shit. She looks toward the stage, and Mickey is gone too. 

A chill runs up her spine. She’s probably overreacting. But in her line of work, it’s best to err on the side of caution. 

She glances around the packed bar, looking for Ian or Mickey. She doesn’t see either, but she swears she catches sight of Scarlet Davis. 

That’s not good. That’s not good at all. 

Marcia takes a step closer, shoving her way through the throngs of headbangers, eyes on Scarlet the entire time. She’s talking to a tall man with dark hair, who’s got his back to Marcia. Scarlet is gesturing wildly, her eyes angry, her face hard. Even in the low light of the bar, Marcia can tell the girl is pissed off. The man seems unaffected, waving his hand at her dismissively. 

This can’t be a coincidence. 

Just as Marcia is a few steps away from the suspects, a brawl breaks out on the dance floor. Marcia can’t tell if it’s actually malicious or just some kind of intense thrash dancing, but she gets pulled into the fray and dragged away from her targets. 

For fucks sake. 

This is why she prefers James Taylor. 

*** 

“This is so fucking awesome!” Trent screams, pumping his fist in the air as he bounces in front of the stage. His beer sloshes everywhere, but he can’t be bothered to care. The band is so good, and Marcus is so close and this is just everything he wanted tonight. As long as he can keep from being sighted by Ian or Mickey, he’s fucking golden. 

Marcus laughs, banging his head hard, hand up in the sign of the beast as the lead singer screams bloody murder. 

“M’so glad you’re here with me!” Marcus screams back, wrapping his arm around Trent’s waist and pulling him close. Marcus’s insides go all gooey and he shivers. Fuck. 

This is the best night ever. 

Just then, someone grabs them, ripping them away from the stage. Trent stumbles backwards, tripping over his own feet. He lands on his ass hard, the jolt of the fall shooting pain up his spine. He looks around, but Marcus is nowhere to be found. He lurches to his feet, aching all over. “Marc?” he whips around, eyes flitting all over the stupid club for his friend. “Marcus??” 

He gets shoved again, almost falls to his knees this time. He’s hot all over, anxious and worried, he ducks down between the taller bodies, weaving his way over to the WROX booth. 

He's gonna get into so much trouble, but Marcus was just there, and now he’s gone. 

Something’s not right. 

*** 

Mickey is having a good night. He wasn’t expecting to, not with all that’s been going on. But here he is, sitting at the booth with Kenny and Fitzy, Ian so close he’s practically in his lap. Mandy is dancing with Lip (he’s not sure how he feels about that.) and Lexi is a no-show. Mickey thinks this will finally be the last straw that gets her contract terminated. He's already sent a snarky email to Tobias detailing Lexi’s absence, and requesting Toby bring up firing her withe the board of directors. 

Mickey is sick of her shit. And now she can’t even be bothered to be professional? 

Good fucking riddance. 

Mickey is at ease for the first time in weeks. He's been happy, sharing his space with Ian and getting ready for this show, but all of that had been tainted by the undercurrent of anxiety and fear that had come with the stalker. 

But tonight, in this little bubble with his boyfriend and co-workers, none of that seems to matter. 

Just then, Theresa walks over, fruity cocktail in hand, Cal and Teddy trailing behind her. Teddy looks in his element, rocking what has to be an original Tool concert t-shirt, and black cargo pants. Mickey has never seen his neighbor look so metal. Cal, on the other hand, looks like a glam rock nightmare. Tight, red leather pants, boots with tall heels, and a silk shirt with a snakeskin pattern, open to reveal a nest of black titanium chains. He's even rocking a whole face of makeup, which Mickey’s never seen on him. Dark eye shadow, black lipstick. He's holding a strawberry daiquiri, and looks like he’s having the time of his life. 

“Mickey!” Cal squeals, running over and pulling Ian and Mickey both into an awkward hug. Ian grunts in Mickey’s ear, his elbow digging into Mickey’s ribs. “Such a good show! I had Teddy buy me the CDs of the first three bands.” 

“You’ll have to forgive my husband.” Cal laughed just as the song ended and the latest band ended their set. The house lights came on and Kenny made his way toward the stage to talk up the charity and introduce the upcoming band. “We pregamed kinda hard before coming down tonight." 

“We really did.” Theresa chuckled. “I’m entirely too drunk to be this old.” 

Mickey giggled, pulling Ian closer. “Our friends are hammered.” 

Ian hummed in agreement, smiling at his boyfriend. 

Our friends. 

God, Ian really likes the sound of that. 

“You guys having fun?” Ian asked, sipping his own beer. He’s not trying to get drunk tonight. After what Marcia said about the possibility of their stalker being there, Ian wanted to be firing on all cylinders. 

“Duh!” Cal says, rolling his eyes like the drama queen he is. 

“I didn’t think you’d like this kinda music.” Mickey says, waving toward the throngs of fans in leather and motorcycle jackets. 

“Psh.” Cal flips him off. “Shows what you know. I went to 45 Marilyn Manson concerts in high school.” 

Mickey nods, impressed. “Goes to show what happens when you assume.” 

“You should come by next week.” Cal says. “We’ve got some really good live Pink Floyd videos from The Wall tour.” 

“Yeah?” Mickey asks, excited. “That sounds pretty fucking awesome.” 

“We’ll make a night of it.” Cal adds, turning to Theresa. “Wanna come?” 

“Yeah, as long as Trent’s okay to stay home alone. I’d love to.” 

“Isn’t he home alone right now?” 

“No. He’s spending the night with Scarlet and Marcus.” she sighs, like she’s not sure how she feels about it. 

Ian tuns toward Mickey, not wanting the rest of the group to hear him. “Y’know, Marcus came by the other night.” Ian says, surprised he forgot to tell Mickey about the whole strange scenario. “He seemed pretty torn up about things with Trent. Kept asking me how hard it was to be out.” 

“I bet he's pretty fucked up about it.” Mickey replies, also keeping his voice down. Their neighbors are chatting with Mickey’s coworkers about the show and the foundation, paying them no mind. “I feel bad for Trent. I can’t help but think he’s gonna get hurt.” 

“Yeah, but that’s kinda what those years are for, right? Love and loss?” Ian says, recalling his own heartache at that age. 

“Still sucks.” Mickey shoots back, pulling Ian as close as he can without depositing the other man in his lap. 

“Sure does.” Ian agrees, resting his head on Mickey’s shoulder. 

The intermission between bands is supposed to last about fifteen minutes. Enough time to tear down one band’s gear and set up another's. Let people go out and smoke or hit up the merch tables. 

“You guys see that?” Kenny asks, standing from the table. Mickey and Ian’s neighbors part like the red sea so Mickey and Kenny can both stand. Ian stands too, even though he has no idea what they’re looking for. 

“What?” Mickey asks, instantly alert. He scans the crowd, sees a bit of a skirmish dying down by the stage. 

“Some girl. Young. Too young to be here, being dragged across the floor by an older dude. It didn’t look right.” Kenny replied, eyes scanning the crowd more frantically. “Fuck, where did they go?” 

Mickey gets a sinking feeling, arm instantly going around Ian’s waist. Just as he’s about to ask Fitzy to call security, Marcia runs up, looking haggard. 

Fucking hell. 

“Gentlemen, we’ve got a bit of a situation.” Marcia says, resting her hand on her hip, where her sidearm is hidden under her bulky sweater. 

“Mickey?” Mandy picks that exact moment to come back over, dragging Ian’s brother by the wrist. 

“It’s fine, Mands.” Mickey insists, not looking away from the detective. “What’s up, Marcia?” 

“I don’t know if you got any of my messages, but I think we’ve got a bead on your stalker. And I think they’re here tonight.” 

“W-what?” Ian gasps, jumping up. Mickey stumbles to his feet also, pulling Ian against him. Their friends circle around them. Mickey watches it happen, like one of those super hero movies he and Ian are so fond of. Their protectors forming a wall around them in the face of danger. Teddy and Cal, Mandy and Lip, Theresa. Hell, even Fitzy and Kenny look ready to bust heads. Mickey keeps Ian ask close as possible, waiting with bated breath for Marcia to finally fucking say something. 

“Cyber crimes finally got a legitimate address for the sender of all the electronic threats. Shane Davis. Scarlet and Marcus Davis’s father. We just executed a search warrant on his home address. But he wasn’t at home and had no electronic devices on his premises. We also traced the laptop’s signature, and through the computer’s server, we deduced the laptop belongs to Scarlet Davis.” 

“So wait.” Mickey says, latching onto Ian even tighter. “Are you telling me that my teenager neighbor is my stalker? Or her ex-con father?” 

Mickey hears Theresa gasp. Muttering about getting home to Trent. He can see her out of the corner of his eye, grabbing her purse and bulldozing her way through the crowd. But Mickey can't even muster a goodbye to his friend, he's so wrapped up in what Marcia is saying. 

"The neighbor kids?" Cal balks, turning to his husband. 

"C'mon, baby." Teddy says, grabbing Cal by the wrist and pulling him toward the bar. "Let's let Ian and Mickey talk to the detective." he turns to Ian, who at least is looking at him, unlike Mickey. "Call us later? Let us know what you find out?" 

"Sure, Ted." Ian replies, numb all over. 

Lip and Mandy are just standing there, frozen. Mickey knows the feeling. 

"It can't be the kids." Mickey insists. He glares at the detective, eyes pleading. "There's no way this shit is the work of fucking children." 

“Mick. What about what Marcus said to me today?" Ian whispers, horrified. 

What the fuck. What the ever loving, motherfucking fuck. 

Mickey can’t breathe. He can’t think. This can’t be happening. 

Marcia warned them it might be someone in the building. But not a kid. Not Marcus. Not his sister. 

It has to be the father. That makes the most sense. He's the hacker. He's the convict. The felon. Mickey knows all too well how those assholes feel about gay people. 

His father’s a prime example. 

“We can’t say for sure.” Marcia replies. “All three of them had access to Shane’s apartment. We found fingerprints from all three of them at the house. No laptop, so we’re getting a judge to sign off on a search warrant for the Scarlet and Marcus’s house as we speak. I don’t have a solid answer for you just yet, but I'm confident it’s one of them. And if any of them are here tonight, we're going to find them.” Marcia says, giving them a nod and melting back into the crowd. 

“Oh no.” Ian says, voice trembling. 

“It’s okay, Ian.” Mickey tries to soothe him, even though he’s felling totally fucked up himself. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

“No, Mick.” Ian replies, shaking his head. “Look.” He’s pointing into the crowd, his hand unsteady. 

Mickey swallows, looking out toward the crowd. There are people everywhere, drinking and laughing, getting ready for the next band. 

On the other side of the bar, Mickey can see Marcus and Trent. 

What the fuck are they doing here? 

However, the more pressing issue is who they’re with. 

Scarlet is standing the, screaming at her brother. Behind her, is a beast of a man. Tall, muscled, wearing all black. He’s got black hair, streaked with gray, and a nasty scar on his neck, like someone tried to slit his throat. 

It’s gotta be Shane. Marcus’s father. 

He's looming over Trent and Marcus while Scarlet tears into them, although Mickey is too far away to hear what’s being said. 

Whatever it is, it looks bad. Marcus makes a face, tries to step away, but the man grabs him, shaking him violently. Trent tries to step in, but the man shoves him hard, sending the poor kid flying. 

Shane the grabs Marcus by the back of his neck, dragging him out of the club through the back door. Mickey watches, horrified, as Scarlet scampers after them, looking smug and a self-satisfied. Trent scrambles to his feet, wiping blood off his lips before blowing out the back exit after them. 

Motherfucker. 

Mickey is up and storming after them before he knows what he’s doing. He can feel Ian moving next to him, at his back and ready. Mickey knows there’s cops all over this place, but he doesn’t want to waste time tracking any of them down. He quickly scans the bar for Marcia, but when he doesn’t see her anywhere, he decides to end this shit himself. 

One of those assholes is his stalker, and he’s done being a fucking victim. 

"Mick! Wait!” Mandy’s voice rings out behind him, but he can’t stop. He won’t. 

This ends now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually posted this by accident while editing. oops. so please forgive me while i continue to work out the bugs. 
> 
> by the way, i don't know a god damn thing about hackers or computers. everything in this chapter is straight from google, so please forgive me if you are a computer genius or an elite hacker, i mean no disrespect.


	7. Fighting our way back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stalker is revealed. The aftermath is endured. The future is considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this is looking like the second-to-last chapter of this fic. we're finally (finally!) closing in on the end. thanks for sticking with me, i know i've been inconsistent as fuck with this fic. but, i don't abandon work, so please bear with me.

“Dad, please.” Marcus cried, throwing himself in front of Trent on the dirty pavement. “What are you doing, why are you doing this?” 

They were in the alley behind the club. The dumpster was overflowing with trash, the entire space reeked of filth. Marcus eyed the mouth of the alley, trying to decide if he could just grab the boys and make a break for it. 

The odds weren’t good. 

Scarlet scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. “Look at you, crying on the ground like a fucking faggot. No wonder Dad’s so ashamed of you. Fucking disgusting.” 

“Scarlet, that’s enough from you. You shut up.” Shane growled before turning to his son. "Get up.” Shane spat, grabbing his son by the arm and hauling him to his feet. “We’re fucking leaving this shithole.” 

“Get your god damn hands off him.” Mickey growled, banging out the back stage door and shoving the dude with both hands. Shane went stumbling back a few steps, shocked. 

Marcus took the opportunity to run, grabbing Trent by the arm and hauling him to relative safety behind the dumpster. The alley wasn’t big, but it was dark and had plenty of shadows to hide in. 

Mickey and Ian stood their ground, blocking the exit to the alley, the only way to the street, and the back door of the club. 

Shane and Scarlet stood a few feet away, both looking ready to throw down. 

Mickey really should have brought a cop out here, instead of going all cowboy. 

“You shouldn’t be here. This is between me and my kids.” Shane says, sounding oddly apologetic. Mickey quirks an eyebrow, glancing between Shane and Ian, as if his boyfriend might have some insight. 

Ian just looks confused. 

“This is all your fault.” Scarlet glowered, glaring at Mickey. “Everything was fine ‘til you!” 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Mickey replied, throwing his hands in the air. “What is your problem?” 

“She’s the stalker, Mick.” Ian grabbed his boyfriend’s arm. “Gotta be her.” 

“No.” Shane insisted, taking a menacing step forward. “It’s me. When my little girl told me she thought you’d turned my boy into a queer, I knew I had to do something. Had to fix it.” 

“Dad, please.” Marcus was crying now, cowering in Trent’s arms. 

“I had to, kid.” Shane says, giving his son that same apologetic look. “M’sorry. I just wanna do right by you kids. Promise.” 

Mickey was so fucking confused. None of this makes sense. 

“Trent, Marc, get up.” Ian said, waving them over. “We’re going back inside. Right now.” 

“Can’t let you do that.” Shane whispered, still sounding oddly regretful. “Gotta finish this. Fix it.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about??” Mickey barked. “You sound fucking insane, you know that right?” 

“That’s the plan.” Shane replied, smiling ruefully as he lunged at Ian and Mickey. 

Mickey really hadn’t wanted this to end in a fight.... 

Oh well. 

Shane shakes his head, angry that it had to come to this. But he can’t really see any other way to fix it. He pulls a K-bar out of his ankle sheath and swings, slicing the fruity DJ right across the chest. Blood seeps from the wound and Ian gasps, rushing over. Shane shakes his head, waving the knife in the redhead's face before punching Mickey in the ribs, right over the gaping cut. Mickey stagger forward, colliding with Shane hard as his hand flies up to cover his chest. Blood weeps through his fingers as he gasps a sharp breath. 

“You fucking cut me.” Mickey raged, punching him in the gut before stomping hard on his booted foot. Ian was right beside him, rounding on Shane from behind. Ian wrapped his arms around the stalker and yanked, sending him and his knife flying in two different directions. Shane landed on the ground by the fence with a muted groan. 

Ian grabbed Mickey by his shoulders, glancing up and down his body. The cut was shallow, but probably still needed a few stitches. Ian sighed, relieved. 

It could have been so much worse. 

Shane jumped back up and huffed, wiping a droplet of blood off his split lip before charging Ian, fist connecting hard with his gut. Ian wheezed, winded, before coming back with an upper cut. Shane reared back, spitting blood on the ground before squaring his shoulders and advancing on the pair once again. 

Trent and Mark were huddled by the dumpster, clinging to each other as they watched the fight with wide, wary eyes. Scarlet seemed to be reveling in the violence, smiling widely as she practically vibrated on the spot. 

Mickey was still applying pressure to the knife wound on his chest, but when he saw Shane retrieve his blade and step toward Ian again, he lost it. He grabbed that fucker by the hair and got a fist to the mouth for his efforts. Mickey gasped, spitting blood all over Shane’s face before staggering back, fists up. 

Shane was eerily quiet as they fought. Knife in hand, he weaved around Ian and Mickey, striking out with the blade as he attempted to dodge their flying fists. Mickey side stepped Shane as Ian came at him from behind. Shane growled as Ian’s huge arms circled his middle once more, thrashing wildly as he attempted to dislodge him. 

Mickey glared at the kids, still huddled by the dumpster. “Go find Marcia!” he bellowed, waving them toward the door as he ran up to help Ian restrain Shane. 

Of course, the kids didn‘t move, seemingly frozen in the corner of the alley. 

Ian had his arms around Shane’s waist, but Shane was still swinging wildly with the knife. Mickey jumped up in front of him, laying a brutal punch to his kidney. Shane wailed, ripping himself out of Ian’s grasp and lunging at Mickey, knife out. 

Mickey lurched to the side, but the blade once again sliced through him. He gasped as he felt the knife plunge into his side. He glanced down, shocked to see the hilt of the blade sticking out of his midsection, right underneath his ribs. 

“Motherfucker.” Mickey spat, gripping the black handle of the knife, but not pulling it out. “Fucking stabbed me.” Mickey huffed out a harsh breath, suddenly feeling very dizzy. 

“Mick!” Ian yelped, finally getting his arm around Shane’s neck. Years of ROTC training finally coming in handy, he applied heavy pressure, yanking Shane’s head back as far as he could. 

Shane squirmed, gurgling and gasping, but Ian was relentless. He watched helplessly as his boyfriend fell to his knees and then pitched sideways onto the dirty concrete below. 

Shane had dropped his fists and was now pawing ineffectually at Ian’s face with his bloody fingers, but Ian just held on until the other man went limp in his grasp. 

As soon as Ian was sure Shane was unconscious, he tossed his body to the ground and rushed over to Mickey. 

Ian gathered Mickey into his arms, applying pressure to the bleeding wound, mindful not to jostle the knife. “Hey Mick. You’re gonna be okay. M’right here.” Ian whispered, kissing Mickey’s sweaty hair, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Fucker stabbed me.” Mickey murmured, voice low and raspy. “All bloody.” 

“Yeah.” Ian replied, laughing a little hysterically. “But you’re gonna be okay.” 

Mickey had to be okay. He just had to. 

Just then the back door to the club burst open and Marcia stumbled out, gun drawn. There were at least four other undercover cops behind her, all streaming into the alleyway to secure the crime scene. 

Marcia took in the scene, eyes wide. “Barker, cuff up that unconscious man. Lawrence, radio the EMTs up front. Male stabbing victim, unknown extent of injury. Ian! Is he breathing?” 

Ian didn’t even bother looking at the detective. He just placed two fingers along Mickey carotid artery, watching his chest intently. 

“Yes. It’s shallow, but he’s breathing. He also has a pulse, but it’s irregular. Please hurry.” 

“Victim has labored breathing, thready pulse.” 

Lawrence nodded, moving to the side to radio the EMTs. 

Ian held Mickey in his arms, cradling his face in his palm. Mickey got so pale, so fast. Ian’s chest felt tight. He couldn’t take in enough air. His eyes felt tight, burning with unshed tears. He couldn’t even breathe. He just stared at his boyfriend, petrified. 

“Ian, I need you to step away, so the medics can have a look.” Marcia said. Ian was still cradling Mickey in his arms. He has no idea how much time has passed since Marcia arrived and the EMTs crowded into the alleyway. But suddenly, Ian was surrounded by uniformed EMTs and a gurney. 

“Baker, set up a perimeter. Secure those kids.” she growled, pointing to Trent and the Davidson siblings, who were still hovering by the dumpster. “Keep everyone out of this god damn alley.” Marcia barked. “Ellison, Allen, go inside and shut down the event. Keep the radio employees behind for questioning, but send the fans home please.” 

Ian was pushed out of the way by the medic. He shuffled back on his ass, scraping his jeans on the concrete. He watched with wide eyes as the medics stabilized the knife, but didn’t remove it. How they put a mask on his boyfriend’s face, and an IV in his arm. How they jacked him up and flew him out of the alley toward the road before Ian could even being to understand what was happening. He just sat there, breathing heavy. His heart was pounding, his ears buzzing. He was totally numb as he watched the ambulance carrying his boyfriend whiz down the street and out of sight. 

“Ian! What the fuck!” 

Ian glanced up slowly. He felt like his brain had gone offline. 

This can’t be real. This can’t be really happening. 

“Ian, get up.” It was Mandy. When did she get here? He just stared up at her, towering over him with her hands on her hips. She looked scared, confused, and totally over Ian’s shit. “C’mon. We gotta get to Presbyterian.” 

“What?” Ian replied, wiping a hand down his face. His fingers came back bloody, and he took a moment to wonder where he was hurt. 

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except Mickey. Where did he go? Where did they take him? 

“Presbyterian Hospital, Ian.” and suddenly, there was his brother. Lip reached down, tucking his hands under Ian’s armpits and hauling him to his feet. “It’s the closest hospital, that’s where they’re gonna take Mickey.” 

Ian nodded, still too dazed to respond. Mickey’s been stabbed. Their neighbors are the stalker. Stalkers? Family of stalkers? Kids. Children he knows. 

He baked Christmas cookies for Marcus and Scarlet last year. 

Ian’s chest is tight, his vision dark around the edges. His skin is clammy and his fingers are tingling. 

He can’t be here anymore. 

“I gotta go.” Ian whispers, staring at his brother imploringly. Ian feels like he’s three seconds away from a panic attack. He looks down at himself only to discover he’s covered in blood. 

Mickey’s blood. 

Ian’s going to vomit. 

“Ian.” Marcia barks, moving right into his line of sight. She takes up his entire field of vision, blocking his view of the police corralling Marcus and Scarlet. “Mickey is at Presbyterian Hospital. You should let your brother take you to him. I’ll meet you there once I’m done here. I have questions, but that can wait.” Marcia lays a gentle hand on his arm. “And clean yourself up. You’ve got a nasty cut on your arm.” 

Ian looks down at his arms. She’s right, his shirtsleeve is torn down the seam, and he’s got a deep cut from his elbow to his wrist. Blood is cascading down his arm, dripping from his fingers in long rivulets. He twists his arm, and a sharp pain goes lancing through him. He’s been sliced deeply, hadn’t even noticed. 

“C’mon Ian.” Lip is close to begging now. His voice is high and desperate as he grasps Ian’s uninjured arm. “Let me take you to the hospital. We’ll get you stitched up in the ER.” 

“Mickey.” Ian replies, seemingly only capable of fragmented thoughts at the moment. “I need Mickey.” 

“We’re going to the same hospital.” Lip replies pleadingly. “We’ll find him as soon as we stop this fucking bleeding.” 

“I’m his emergency contact, Ian.” Mandy says, giving Ian a reassuring smile. “I’ll make sure you get to him as soon as you get fixed up, okay? Promise.” 

“Trent.” Ian says, suddenly remembering the poor kid. He was just here, where’d he go? 

“Theresa’s right over there.” Mandy pointed to the mouth of the alley, where Theresa was indeed standing. Trent was wrapped around her, his head buried in her shoulder. Cal and Teddy were standing with them. Cal’s eyes were trained on Ian, and when he saw Ian look over, he gave him a small smile and a nod. 

“Everyone’s safe.” Lip said, laying a gentle hand on Ian’s shoulder. “C’mon, get up. Let’s go to the hospital.” 

Marcia grabbed a female officer Ian hadn’t seen yet. “Marshall, take these witnesses to the hospital. Keep an eye on them until I can get over there. Take Baker, and tell him to set up outside Mickey Milkovich’s hospital room. I’m not taking any chances until we confirm we have the stalker in custody.” 

“Yes ma’am.” the cop replied, turning to Ian. She handed him a bar towel from inside. Ian pressed it to his wounded arm with a grimace, didn’t even think to thank her. “I am the black Escalade with the blue S.W.A.T. sticker on the windshield. It’s unlocked. Go ahead, I’ll be along to bring you to the hospital in just a moment.” 

Ian nodded at the cop, letting Lip and Mandy lead him out of the alley. They passed his neighbors on the way to the street, and Ian overheard Lip explaining to them where they were going, but Ian wasn’t paying all that much attention. 

He squeezed his bloody hand, feeling the warm, sticky fluid spread along his palm. He focused on the blood and the pain, zoning out as he was shoved into the back seat of the SUV. He sat in silence, listening to Lip and Mandy discuss the events of the evening. Ian said nothing, too scared and shocked to even form words. 

Once Officer Marshall returned, she immediately started the truck and sped off in the direction of Presbyterian Hospital. 

The entire ride, Ian couldn’t take his eyes off his bloody fingers, couldn’t get his mind of his bleeding boyfriend. 

*** 

Two hours. 

They’ve been sitting in this godforsaken waiting room for two hours. 

Ian’s going to lose his mind. 

The waiting room is almost empty, oddly enough. Nothing like the waiting room at Cook County. That place is a madhouse twenty-four hours a day. This room only has three other people in it besides Ian and his friends. An old lady with what looks like a sprained wrist, a mother with a coughing child, and a homeless man with no shoes, bleeding from a wound to his head. No one speaks. The only sounds in the room are the television in the corner, and the clacking of the secretary’s keyboard. 

Mandy is leaning back in her chair, head tipped down, eyes closed. Ian’s not sure if she’s sleeping or still crying. Ian won’t bother her. He knows he doesn’t want to be bothered either. 

He pinches his eyes shut, running his fingers along the tender stitches in his left forearm. Ten stitches, right up the front of his arm. He glances down at the black thread. The mottled skin, the intense bruising. He presses on the wound, hissing as pain shoots up his arm. 

It’s a good distraction from the anxiety he’s feeling. 

No one has told them anything since they came in. Only to sit down and wait. 

Teddy and Cal are curled up on the other side of the room with a blanket they took from their car. HGTV is on the television mounted to the wall. The couple murmur quietly to each other, every so often glancing over toward Ian with twin reassuring smiles on their faces. 

Ian is not feeling reassured. 

Lip had gone down to the cafeteria with Kenny and Fitzy. He knows Ian needs to eat and take his nighttime meds. It’s almost two in the morning now. But Ian doesn’t want to take his medication. He doesn’t want to get groggy and fall asleep. What if something happens? What if Mickey needs him? No, it’s best to just wait. 

So he waits. 

He waits and Lip comes back with a coffee and a granola bar. He insists Ian take his meds right away. They argue, but finally find a compromise: Ian will take his mood stabilizer, but not his sleeping pill. He’ll still feel drowsy, but he won’t pass out like he would have otherwise. 

Lip looks terribly smug as Ian takes his pill. Ian would punch him if he wasn’t in so much pain. 

Not long after that, Theresa and Trent stop by. Ian doesn’t want to talk to them. Not yet. He just doesn’t have the energy for the stalker or the investigation or the intricate web the whole fiasco has weaved around his neighbors and friends. 

If Ian starts thinking about Trent, then he’ll think about Marcus, then Scarlet, then their scumbag father. And Ian doesn’t have the space in his head for that shit right now. 

Not when all he can think about is Mickey, hurt and alone. Waiting for Ian. 

So no one speaks. Not even Marcia when she finally shows up. Ian thought she’d go straight into investigation mode, but she just patted Ian’s shoulder and walked through the emergency room door to speak with Mickey’s doctor. 

Ian sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. It’s not fair that the detective can just come and go as she pleases. Ian needs to see Mickey more than fucking Marcia does. 

It’s not fair. 

Nothing is fair, clearly, or none of this bullshit would have ever happened. 

How is it that Ian can be lucky enough to meet a man like Mickey, and unlucky enough to watch him go through so much anguish? How can the universe give him this wonderful man, and then proceed to put them both through the ringer like this? 

Ian sighs again, finally closing his eyes. He won’t sleep, but maybe his body can wind down a bit. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try. 

Another hour goes by. The cops leave. Marcia promises to call in the morning, or as soon as they learn anything of value. Theresa and Trent say goodnight, Ian does his best to be polite, but he’s still too dazed to really pull it off. 

Once it settles down, and only Ian and his friends are left, the waiting room grows eerily quiet again. 

As Ian inevitably drifts off, the adrenaline from the fight draining out of him, he dreams of nothing but blood... 

*** 

“Mandy Milkovich?” a female voice called out in the silent waiting room. Ian’s on his feet before Mandy even turns. 

“That’s me.” Mandy says, rubbing a hand over her face as she moves to stand. “Mickey’s my brother, this is his boyfriend Ian. How is he?” 

The woman smiles. “Hello, I’m Doctor Ava Garcia. I’m Mickey’s attending physician tonight. As you know, your brother was brought in by ambulance a few hours ago with a stab wound.” the doctor looks down at her notes. “He presented with four-centimeter anterior stab wound in the right seventh intercostal space. We took him down for a chest X-ray, and it showed no signs of pneumothorax. We then did a CT scan, and while the area was hazy in appearance, there didn’t seem to be any blood in his abdomen or chest cavity. We were stitching up his other wounds when he complained of severe pain. His pulse was elevated, and tachycardic. With this new change in symptoms, we decided that emergency surgery was the best option. We found blood and bile fluid in the abdomen. Once we were inside, we discovered the stab wound penetrated the diaphragm, liver and both sides of the gallbladder.” 

Ian gasped, grabbing for Mandy’s hand. He felt Lip’s hands on his shoulders. Ian was glad for the comfort, he felt like he was going to be sick. 

The doctor gave Ian a kind smile. “No other organs were perforated. An open cholecystectomy was preformed to deal with the penetrating injury to the gallbladder. We removed the gallbladder with no issue, closed up after with sutures. The anterior face of the liver was bleeding, so we sutured that as well. Then we closed up his abdomen with staples. I know it sounds scary, but surgery went very well, and he’s stabilized now. There is no reason he can’t make a full recovery. As a matter of fact, barring an infection, Mickey should be close to fully recovered in about two weeks. We’ll want to monitor him inpatient for a few days, but as long as he continues to improve, he can probably go home by Monday. He’ll have some scarring from the stab wound and the staples, but considering the alternative, I think we really dodged a bullet here.” 

Ian felt like his body was on fire. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding. 

“Mickey’s gonna be okay?” he asks, voice cracking. 

“Yes.” Doctor Garcia smiled. “Mickey’s going to be just fine.” 

Ian fell into Mandy’s arms, weeping with sheer relief. 

“When can we see him?” Lip asks, rubbing Ian’s back soothingly. 

“He’ll be in recovery for the rest of the night, no visitors, sorry. But come back tomorrow after nine and you can spend the whole day with him if you want.” 

“I want to stay.” Ian insisted. 

“Ian, man. You need to take your meds.” Lip reminded him gently. “And no one’s allowed in the recovery rooms, not even parents or spouses. They have to keep that area sterile.” 

Ian wants to scream. He just wants Mickey. 

“C’mon. Let’s go home.” Lip says, wrapping an arm around Ian. “I’ll stay over tonight.” 

“I’m coming too.” Mandy insisted. 

“Are we having a sleepover?” Cal asks, clapping his hands groggily as he stood from his seat. “Teddy, baby. We can make those cookies Mickey loves so much.” 

“Honey, we can’t just invite ourselves to spend the night at Ian’s. He’s had a hell of a night.” 

Ian looks up at his friends. His brother, Mandy, his crazy neighbors. In that moment, he’s so thankful for them. “No, please. You’re more than welcome. I kinda don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

Cal gives him a warm smile, nodding. “Okay then. We’ll meet you guys back at the complex. We’ll bring the ingredients for Mickey’s Chocolate Orgasm cookies.” 

Ian laughs. It’s a small, brittle sound, but its real. 

They thank Doctor Garcia, who promises to see them the following day. 

As Ian lets Lip and Mandy lead him out of the hospital and into a cab, he allows himself hope for the first time since the ambulance pulled away from him at the bar. 

Maybe everything was gonna be okay after all. 

*** 

Mickey groaned, moving to run his hand down his face, only to wince at a sharp pull in his hand. He peeled his crusty eyes open. It’s dark in the room, but the light of the streetlamps illuminates the space just enough for Mickey to catch sight of an IV sticking out of his left hand. He turned his head, only to get caught up by some bullshit around his face. He brought his free hand up, feeling around. He had a god damn breathing tube stuck up his nose. 

Fuck. 

He’s in the hospital. 

With that one realization, the events of the previous evening finally come back to him in nauseating technicolor. 

The show, the stalker. 

Shane. Shane and his kids. 

Shit, where’s Ian? 

Mickey tries to sit up, but the whole world spins and he falls back in a pathetic heap. He’s disoriented, and clearly high as fuck off painkillers. There is still a hot ache in his side where he was fucking stabbed. He almost touches it, but thinks better of it. It’s dark in the room. If there’s a clock, he can’t see it. He feels around on the bed for that remote thingy that calls the nurse, finally finding it tangled up in the bedclothes. He squints in the darkness, finding the red ‘Call’ button and pressing it with oddly swollen fingers. 

He breathes slowly, mindful of the painful pull in his chest, and waits. 

What feels like hours later, the door swings open, bathing the room in painfully bright fluorescent light. 

“Hey there, hun.” a calm voice calls from the doorway. Mickey can’t make out the person, since they are entirely backlit. “What can I do for you?” with that, the light flickers on and Mickey gets his first real look around. It’s a hospital room, obviously. A private one, with a bed in the middle, a table on the left and two chairs on the right by the window. He has one of those stupid rolling trays right by his bedside, and a flat-screen TV affixed to the wall in front of him. Next to the TV is a whiteboard. It has his name on it, the name of his attending physician and the nurse on shift, as well as a short description of his injuries as well as his allergy to penicillin. 

For some reason, the whiteboard is what really makes this all feel real. There he is, up on the wall, a stabbing victim. 

Not like he’s never been stabbed before, but this is much different. This isn’t Mandy impaling his hand with a pencil. This isn’t Iggy accidentally sticking him in the thigh with his new butterfly knife. 

This is a maniac trying to kill him. 

Mickey may throw up. 

“Mister Milkovich?” the nurse says, laying a gentle hand on his arm. Mickey startles, gasping as he looks up at her. 

“Sorry.” he replies sheepishly. “Kinda got lost in my head for a second.” 

“That’s just fine. Your pain meds might make you feel a little loopy.” the nurse replied with a kind smile. “My name is Janice, and I’m your night nurse.” 

“What time izzit?” Mickey slurs, wincing again as a hot shock of pain snakes up his side. “Ah, fuck.” 

“It’s just after five in the morning.” Janice replies, looking down at the tablet in her hand. Mickey hadn’t noticed, but she brought a whole cart in with her. The thing’s huge, white and clunky. Mickey imagines it must be full of all kinds of fun illicit substances, if the keypad lock on the door is anything to go by. “On a scale of one to ten, what’s your pain level right now, Mr. Milkovich?” she keeps tapping on the damn tablet and Mickey is oddly irritated by it. His nurse is not being annoying, but for some reason, Mickey wants to snap at her. 

Instead, he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. All it does it send a fresh wave of pain and nausea rolling through him. 

“Uh...” he stutters, swallowing convulsively, desperately trying to not puke all over his bed. “Eight, maybe?” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Janice nods, clicking away again. “You sustained quite an injury last night. Underwent emergency surgery.” 

“I did?” 

Janice nods, shooting Mickey a sympathetic smile before dropping her tablet on the top of the rolling cabinet and keying in a code on the lock pad. It beeps and she passes her ID badge over a little black window. There is an audible click and Janice opens one of the drawers and pulling out an individually wrapped, pre-loaded syringe. “Yes, but your doctor will discuss that with you in the morning. But the main point is that your surgery went well, and you are expected to make a full recovery. You should be able to go home in about three to five days.” 

Mickey sighs. He knows he got lucky, but staying in the hospital is never a fun time. Not to mention he’s certain Marcia will want to talk to him. He has no idea what’s going on with Marcus or his family. 

He still can’t believe Marcus’s family is responsible for the stalking. The whole thing is so confusing, his head aches just thinking about it. He tries to recall what was said last night, in that mess of accusations and confessions. It only serves to confound him further. He tries to push the thought out of his mind, but once he latches onto it, he can’t seem to let it go. Which one of them is the actual culprit? 

“Mr. Milkovich?” Janice’s voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. He grinned up at her sheepishly. 

“Sorry, what?” 

Janice smiled back kindly. “I know, you must be very tired. I was just saying I’m going to administer this shot of morphine through your IV port. Then you can get some more rest. You can’t have breakfast, due to your procedure, but the kitchen will send up a lunch menu. When you wake up, just circle your choice. Any questions?” 

“Um, not right now?” Mickey replied, shrugging, then immediately wincing again. 

Janice nodded, walking over to Mickey’s IV tree. Mickey watched as she inserted the needle into the port and depressed the plunger. Before she’d even finished, Mickey’s whole body broke out in a warm flush, tingling through his limbs and settling in his chest. The effects of the drugs were instantaneous, his eyelids drooping as he succumbed. 

“There you go.” Janice said, smile evident in her voice as she walked over to the sharps container and disposed of the needle. “Just rest now.” 

Mickey hummed, his eyes drifting shut of their own accord. His last thoughts before sleep overtakes him are of Ian. 

He misses him terribly. Feels almost adrift without him here. He sighs through his nose, tilting his head back as the drugs pull him into unconsciousness. 

His dreams are a daunting mixture of Ian’s beautiful face, and Shane Davis’s cold, murderous glare. 

*** 

A loud knocking rouses Mickey sometime later. He blinks blearily, wincing as the overhead lights switch on unexpectedly. There is in fact a clock in his room, right by the widow. It’s just after seven in the morning. 

Mickey does not want to be awake. 

“Mr. Milkovich?” a voice he doesn’t recognize calls. “You’ve got some visitors.” 

Mickey pats around in the blankets for the bed remote. Finding the little device, he raised the bed, wincing as the motion pulled sharply on his wounds. 

“Yeah.” he croaked, clearing his throat. “Come in.” he looks over, hoping to see Ian walking in. He sighs in disappointment when he sees Marcia and one of her suited up junior detective squad lackies. “Hey Detective.” he grumbles, trying not to be a total dick. 

He wonders idly when his lunch is being delivered, when his next pain shot is. His stomach doesn’t hurt like it did before, but he can feel the hot ache returning quickly. 

He situates himself into some semblance of a seated position, stifling a cry of pain. Once he’s sitting up, he stares at the cops, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “Yes?” 

“Mr. Milkovich, we just wanted to stop by this morning and ask you a couple follow up questions. Just tying up loose ends, honestly. We have taken witness statements from everyone else already, you’re the last one we need to interview.” 

“Then what?” Mickey replied. He was unsure what had happened at the bar after he’d been stabbed. He can’t remember anything after falling to the ground. 

Marcia sat down in the chair across from his bed without waiting for an invitation. 

She took her phone from her purse, presses at the screen a few times, and pushed it across the table toward Mickey. Detective Lite posted up against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Mickey gave him a quick once over. The dude was young, dressed in the ugliest, most ill-fitting suit Mickey had ever seen on an adult. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

Mickey can relate. 

“Then we take all this information to the DA and press charges on all involved parties.” Marcia replied, with a small smile. 

‘Okay, I guess.” Mickey replied, still a bit overwhelmed. It's just so hard for him to believe this is his life. Recovering from a stab wound, giving a victim/witness statement to a fucking detective. 

“This is Detective Marsha Erickson. Badge number 9257. I am taking the victim/witness statement of Mikhailio Milkovich, in regard to assault incident, file number A-15877. Mr. Milkovich, if you could just tell us what happened in your own words, please?” 

So Mickey did. He wracked his brain, trying to recall the bizarre turn of events from the benefit. “Um, me and Ian saw this big dude manhandling Marcus and Trent out the back exit. We were worried, something didn’t seem right. We didn’t know at the time, but it was Marcus’s dad, Shane. When we got back there, they were already in a fight. Scarlet was screaming. Calling her brother a faggot and shit. Marcus was crying. Scalet was yelling at me too. Saying it was all my fault that Marcus was gay. She was real pissed off. Never seen her like that.” Mickey took a careful breath, overcome by emotion. The fight was so fresh in his mind, it felt like he was still there. “Uh, her dad told her to shut up. But then Ian said she’s gotta be the stalker. Talking like that, y’know? I mean, I know sometimes the stalker was real gushy? Like wanted to be friends? But towards the end there, it got real violent. You know all about it. The bird and all...” Mickey swallowed hard, pinching his eyes shut. 

“I do.” Marcia replied calmly. “Go on, please.” 

“So Ian’s like....” Mickey paused, wracking his brain. His head felt fuzzy with all the drugs, but he knew he had to give Marcia all the details he could. He pinched his eyes shut, running his fingers through his hair, wincing when he snags a knot. “Ian’s like, insistent that it’s Scarlet. But then her dad says it was him. Says it was him all along. Then Marcus is crying again, and his dad says something like ‘I gotta do it. Gotta...gotta protect you.” 

“Did he say exactly that?” Marcia pressed, pushing her phone closer to Mickey. She’s probably recording him. 

“I dunno.” Mickey mumbled, shaking his head. “He said he wanted to do right by his kids. Then he charged me.” 

“That was when the physical assault started?” 

Mickey nodded. “He pulled a knife. I remember....I remember Ian tried to get the kids to go inside, but no one moved. Shane kept saying weird shit like ‘I gotta fix this.’ or something. He, uh, he cut me first.” Mickey splayed his hand across his chest, where he could feel the stitches poking through his hospital gown. “Ian got involved after that, and then it’s all kinda fuzzy. We were all trading blows, me and Ian trying to restrain Shane, get the knife, anything. It was a fucking mess, then he stuck me. Uh, I don’t really know what happened after that. The last thing I really remember is looking down and seeing the knife sticking outta me.” Mickey shuddered, shaking his head. “So...yeah. That’s it.” 

Marcia nodded, turning off her phone and returning it to her bag. “That all matches with what we have already. Now I can tell you what’s transpired since last night.” 

Mickey nodded, reaching for a small cup of ice chips on his tray table. No water anywhere to be seen, so he’ll have to make due. “Okay.” 

“Last night, we arrested Shane, Scarlett and Marcus Davis, on charges of stalking, intimidation, animal cruelty and cyber-stalking.” 

“Wait. What?” Mickey balked. “All of them?” 

Marcia nodded, face grave. “Yes, all of them. It’s a bit of a mess, and we’re trying to figure it out now, but from what we gathered on their various personal electronics, Marcus had a bit of a crush on you. More like an obsession. He seems to be the one to have sent you all the loverboy-type fan mail. The ones that were geared toward wanting a relationship with you.” 

Mickey nodded. That’s how it started. Marcia was right to call them love letters, they were very sappy, and almost sounded like a kid wrote them. 

Which makes sense now. 

“Marcus admitted to starting this whole thing. It seems his obsession took a turn after you started your relationship with Mr. Gallagher. He told us he felt like he was running out of time, had to make you see that you were making a mistake, as he put it.” 

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing. Marcus was a good kid. Mickey knew he had issues, but Mickey never wanted to really consider that he could be this messed up. 

Trent is going to be heartbroken. 

“So, Marcus started it? Then what?” Mickey pressed, because clearly the detective was not finished yet. 

“Well, it seems that Scarlett is a bit of a snoop.” Marcia replies, flipping through some notes in a little pad of paper she has. “She admitted to hacking into her brother’s emails, his personal social media. She was all up in his business. So, from what our techs are saying, that is when she started sending the threatening messages. The homophobic ones. The especially nasty correspondences come from Scarlett.” 

“I suppose that makes sense.” Mickey sighed, stretching his neck out on his crappy hospital pillow. “She was always real fucking rude. Making snarky comments. I just thought she was a bitchy teenager. I had no idea she was so tapped.” 

Marcia nodded, giving Mickey a grave look. “It seems it was her who left the dead bird on your doorstep.” 

Mickey shivered, reliving the utter disgust of that gruesome discover all over again. “Fucking little psycho.” 

Marcia nodded. “Indeed.” 

“So, if Marcus was the original stalker, and his sister was the homophobic upgrade, what the hell does their father have to do with anything?” 

“Well, that’s where it gets interesting.” Marcia replied, closing her notebook and giving Mickey her full attention. “Seems that Scarlett has been spending a lot of time with her father, unbeknownst to her mother or brother. Shane was teaching her all his hacker tricks. He mostly uses his skills to steal money. But Scarlett was intent on using the skills he taught her to wreak havoc. Seems that Scarlett not only sent a lot of complaints and threats to WROX, all under pseudonyms, but we’ve also found evidence that she sent several complaints to Mr. Gallagher’s place of employment.” 

“That fucking bitch!” Mickey moved to sit up, but was frozen by staggering pain. He gasped, falling back to the mattress. “She got Ian suspended. Why?” 

“Honestly?” Marcia squinted, confused. “She wouldn’t say, but I’m assuming it was to cause a rift between the two of you. I think she’s a confused young woman, with a lot of pent-up anger. She saw you as a threat to her family. Saw Ian as the same. Two happy, successful gay men in her building. To her, you were both corrupting her younger brother. She lashed out, wanted you both to suffer.” 

“And her dad fits in this how?” 

“Well, that’s the interesting part. Like I was saying, Scarlett has been spending a lot of time with Shane since his release from prison. He adopted some very prejudiced thinking while serving his sentence. The way Scarlett spins it, she and her father spent long hours discussing Marcus’s sexual identity. Blaming you specifically for turning him gay. Shane encouraged Scarlett to harass you.” 

“What an asshole.” Mickey muttered, shaking his head. He can’t help but think of his own father, all the vitriolic bullshit he used to spew, how much he fucked Mickey up. 

The thought of Marcus going through that makes Mickey simultaneously furious and incredibly sad. 

“So, what...Marcus was at the show for me, and Scarlett and Shane came to stop him?” 

“Well, not exactly.” Marcia replied, cocking her head to the side. 

“Marcia, listen.” Mickey sighed, turning to glance at the detective. She’s always been good to Mickey, but he’s tired and is pretty much over her weird half-answers. “I’m getting really tired, can you just gimme the facts so I can go back to sleep?” 

Marcia smiled at him. “Just the facts, like on Dragnet?” 

“Sure, whatever the hell Dragnet is.” Mickey smiled back, clearly confused. 

“Ugh, shut up. You’re making me feel ancient.” 

Mickey chuckled, shrugging. “Sorry.” 

“No, you’re not.” Marica smiled. God, this kid. He’s been through hell, but he’s still smiling. Marcia can respect that. “Anyway, the gist of this whole big mess is this: from what we gathered from text messages between Shane and Scarlett from the previous two days, Shane had a change of heart. He was desperately trying to get Scarlett to back off. Trying to get her to leave you and Ian alone, before she ended up in real trouble.” 

Mickey barked out a laugh, wincing in pain directly after. “Seems that ship has sailed.” 

Marcia nodded. “It sure has. The other thing of interest is that Shane’s also been chatting a bit with Marcus. Seems like the longer Shane stays out of jail, the softer he’s becoming on his hateful tendencies. He’s trying to reconnect with his son, trying to understand him better. Accept him.” 

“So, wait.” Mickey murmurs, gears turning in his head. “If he was trying to accept his queer son, and get his psycho daughter to leave me alone, why the fuck did he stab me?” 

“Well, it seems that was a misguided attempt to protect his children.” Marcia replied, looking very sad for a moment. “He actually tried to take the blame for the entire situation. Before he knew we had digital evidence against both his children, he tried to confess to all of it. The stalking, the cyber-bullying. The incidents at the radio station and Ian’s work. He had no idea about the bird, so even if we didn’t have all the computer forensic evidence, we knew he was lying.” 

“So he stabbed me to what? Create the narrative that he was my stalker all along? To protect his kids from arrest?” 

Marcia grimaced, nodding. “That is our understanding of the evidence, yes.” 

“Huh.” Mickey replied, huffing out a breath. “Oddly enough, that makes sense. My uncle went to jail for six years to save his kid from getting pinched for a bank robbery.” 

Marcia sighed. “Thank you for that little family anecdote. But the point I’m trying to make here is that no matter what kind of lies Shane tries to tell, we have all the evidence we need to prosecute all three of them.” 

“Oh.” Mickey replied quietly, looking away. “Even Marcus?” That didn’t feel right to Mickey. Sure, the kid was a bit of a creep, but who wasn’t at that age? Hell, Mandy had sent like a million letters to Justin Timberlake back when they were kids. Marcus wasn’t even threatening him. He was more love-sick puppy than violent menace. And now that it finally seems the kid is moving away from his celebrity crush on Mickey and toward a healthy attraction to a kid his own age, the cops are gonna hem him up for something relatively minor in Mickey’s eyes. 

It just doesn’t seem fair. 

“Marcus played a part in this too.” Marcia reasoned. “A relatively minor part, but he’ll still have to face consequences.” 

“Man, that sucks.” Mickey sighed. He can’t help but think of Trent, how sad he’ll be. Mickey couldn’t really give a shit less about Scarlett, but Trent is a good kid, and Mickey knows he’s all invested in Marcus now. 

“Well, it’s much too soon to tell, but there are lots of options for Marcus if he pleads guilty. Anything from juvenile detention to outpatient therapy. He’s a first-time offender with no history of violence. There’s a good chance his sentence will be light if he’s convicted.” 

“Can I help him somehow? Testify or whatever?” Mickey asked, worrying his bottom lip. 

Marcia smiled, nodding. “Sure, if it goes that far, we can definitely talk to the DA.” 

“Thanks Marcia.” Mickey replied, smiling softly at the detective, his eyes getting heavy again. “You’re like the coolest cop I’ve ever met.” 

Marcia chuckled, moving to stand. It was clear to her that her victim needed his rest. “Well, thank you, Mr. Milkovich.” 

“Call me Mickey.” Mickey mumbled, slumping slightly as his eyes slid shut. 

Marcia smiled. “Mickey, then.” she said, closing the door quietly behind her. 

*** 

Three days. 

Mickey’s been in the hospital for three days. It’s been the longest three days of Ian’s life. 

He's spent the time traveling back and forth from the hospital to the condo to the police station. It’s been an utter clusterfuck. 

Ian still can’t believe what Marcia has told him. The idea that Marcus’s whole family has been at the center of this nightmare is unbelievable. Ian understands complicated family dynamics, but this is a bit much, even for him. He’s not sure how to feel about Marcus’s role in the whole thing. From the way Marcia explains it, he was the catalyst of the entire disaster. His silly schoolboy crush snowballed into an attempted murder. 

This is why hate is so dangerous. Things like racism and homophobia may seem harmless when they are just vitriolic words spoken by ignorant people. But they often morph into senseless violence against innocent people. 

Like Mickey. 

These are the thoughts that have been taking up all the space in Ian’s head for days now. 

Ian’s not sleeping. The bed feels too big at Mickey’s house, but his own place no longer feels like home. Deisel has been a great comfort, but even the poor pup knows something’s not right. The dog clearly misses Mickey. Neither Ian nor Diesel are eating enough. Deisel has been listless. Lying around the house, whining quietly. He won’t go on walks, won’t play fetch. Ian’s not working out or turning in enough work to the firm. He’s behind on three accounts, and if he didn’t have the massive excuse of the stalker and the stabbing, he’d for sure be fired by now. 

Ian is taking his meds, though. That is the one point of personal pride he has left. Because he’s admittedly not showering or calling his family or talking to their friends. 

Hospital. Condo. Police Station. 

That’s been Ian’s life for three days. 

On the morning of the fourth day, Ian walks into the hospital with a coffee for himself and Mickey. Mickey’s back on solid foods and regular beverages today. Ian’s hopeful they’ll let Mickey come home today. 

No one’s said that, yet. But Ian’s seen Mickey improving over the days, and Google says three to five days is the normal recovery time for a stab wound. 

And everyone knows Google is always right. 

Ian chuckles at his own stupid thoughts as he takes the final corner and enters Mickey’s hospital room. He smiles, surprised to see Mickey sitting up in bed, empty breakfast tray in front of him, television playing re-runs of Friends on mute. 

“Ian.” Mickey’s smile lights up his whole face, and doesn’t that just warm Ian down to his bones. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Me too, Mick.” Ian grinned back, passing over one of the cups. Mickey took it gratefully, careful not to drink it too fast. His wound was healing, but he didn’t feel like pressing the issue. 

Especially not now. 

“I need you to go back to the condo.” Mickey murmured, sipping his coffee happily. 

Ian’s face fell. He put his cup down, moving to sit next to Mickey on the bed, careful not to jostle him. “What, why? I just got here. You want me to go?” 

“What?” Mickey balked, confused. He shook his head. “Of course I don’t want you to go.” 

“Oh.” Ian sighed, relieved. He was scared there for a second. 

“Hey, come here.” Mickey said, eyebrows high on his forehead. He’s been pretty out of it on narcotics for the past couple days, but now in the harsh sober daylight, he can clearly see Ian is a hot mess. “What the hell, Ian.” 

Ian grumbles, carefully planting himself on the bed next to Mickey. Mickey reaches out, runs a hand through Ian’s hair, along his cheek. “You look like shit. Please tell me you’ve been taking care of yourself while I've been laid up.” 

Ian huffed, glaring at Mickey. “Laid up?!? Did you just say laid up?” 

Mickey quirked an eyebrow at his boyfriend, motioning to his body, clad in his stupid johnny. 

“Mick, you are not laid up. You got fucking stabbed. You almost died. You were all bloody and barely breathing and it...it...I....” Great. Now Ian can’t breathe. Now Ian’s chest is tight and his eyes are stinging and all he’s done for the past three days is cry and here he is a-fucking-gain. 

“Hey, hey. Ian, shh. It’s cool. C’mere.” Mickey winced, accidentally pulling his stitches as he moved to embrace Ian. Ian fell into his arms, his body shaking with silent tears. “Ian, it’s gonna be okay. I’m fine. I’m already recovering. Marcia caught our team of stalkers, and we’re gonna put this behind us and move on, like we’ve been talking about. Right? You still want that?” 

Ian sniffled, kissing Mickey’s shoulder. “’Course I still want that.” he muttered mulishly. 

Mickey chuckled, pressing a kiss to Ian’s hair. “Okay then. So, what I was trying to say before we got sidetracked...” 

“By the fact that you got stabbed!” Ian interrupted, lifting his head to glare at Mickey again. 

“Yes.” Mickey chuckled. “By that....I was going to ask you to go back to the condo and grab me some clothes. They threw my bloody ones away. I tried to call you this morning, but it went straight to voicemail.” 

“I forgot to charge my phone.” Ian replied, before he caught onto what Mickey had really said. “Wait. You’re coming home?” 

Mickey chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, Ian. I’m coming home. What’s up with you? Didn’t charge your phone, didn’t sleep.” 

“I’m....well, I’m not doing so good with you being in here.” Ian admitted. No use lying. 

“Oh Ian.” Mickey sighed, shaking his head. “Why? It’s not like it was life or death. You knew I was gonna be okay since the first night.” 

“Well, you never really know, do you?” Ian shot back, scowling. “You could get an infection. You could have a bad reaction to some random medication. You could contract fucking MRSA in this shithole.” 

Mickey chuckled. Couldn’t help it, really. Ian was clearly overreacting, but his concern was nice. 

“Ian.” Mickey said, keeping his voice soft as he reached out and laid a hand over Ian’s. “I appreciate your concern, but the doc says I'm doing real well. So good I can go home. I wish you woulda said something earlier, we coulda talked about this. Maybe you coulda gotten some rest. Cuz you’re clearly not sleeping. You look like a zombie.” Mickey gently ran a finger along the purple bags under Ian’s eyes. 

“M’sorry.” Ian signed, leaning in to rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian’s shoulders, holding him close. “I guess I just kinda got in my head. Couldn’t think of anything but you getting worse.” 

“Well, get that shit outta your head. I’m fine. And I wanna go home. So, do you wanna go get me some clothes, or should I call Mandy?” 

Ian glanced up at his boyfriend, cocking his head to the side. “I’d rather stay with you, and I think Mandy’s with Lip? How about Cal? He's got a spare key for emergencies, right?” 

“Yeah, he does.” Mickey nodded. “I’ll call him.” Mickey grabbed his phone, but before he could bring up his contacts, Ian’s words registered in his head. “Wait. Are you telling me Mandy and Lip are a thing now?” 

Ian huffed a laugh, shrugging. “I mean, I don’t know? They’ve been hanging out a lot since you got admitted to the hospital. But I’m not sure what it all means.” 

Mickey gaped at Ian, eyebrows high on his forehead. “I don’t know how I feel about that.” Mickey doesn’t hate Lip, but the dude is kind of a dick, honestly. Mickey’s also not an overprotective weirdo with Mandy, she can take care of herself. But...she’s still his sister, and it would be incredibly awkward if he had to beat Ian’s brother bloody if he hurts Mandy. 

“Awe Mick, give them a shot.” Ian wheedled. “How can you expect a Gallagher to resist a Milkovich?” 

“You’re trying to sway me by appealing to my vanity.” Mickey accused, smirking. 

“Is it working?” Ian grinned back. 

“Shut up.” Mickey replied simply, finally dialing Cal’s number. 

Ian just smiled, feeling the weight of the past three days finally slipping off his shoulders. 

Wait, scratch that. Ian’s feeling better than he has in months. 

Ian listens to Mickey talking to Cal on the phone, and just smiles and smiles. 

It’s over. It's really over. 

Marcia caught the stalker. (stalkers?) Mickey is alive, and is going to stay that way. He’s safe, and so is Ian. No one else got hurt. Shane and his kids are going to pay for what they did to Mickey and Ian. 

Ian can let go of all the stress and anxiety he’s been carrying around since this all started. Hell, he can go back to work! Life can go back to normal. 

No, not normal. Better than that. Because now Ian has Mickey, and that is more important than all the other shit combined. 

Ian’s heart swells. He smiles at Mickey, dipping his head down and kissing him deeply. 

Mickey hums into the kiss, sighing happily as Ian pulls back. 

“What was that for?” 

Ian shrugs, still smiling. He can’t seem to stop now that he’s started. “Just excited to have you coming home.” 

“Oh.” Mickey replies, biting his lip. “I almost forgot. Doc says I should probably stay with someone until the stitches come out. Just in case something goes wrong with the healing process. I shouldn’t have assumed, but...” 

“Mick, you want me to stay with you?” Ian asks, heart in his throat. He knows Mickey’s not asking him to move in with him, but he can’t help the little thrill he gets from the idea of continuing their cohabitation a little longer. He likes being close to Mickey. Waking up next to him, cooking dinner with him. He likes the domesticity of it all. 

He knows he’s fooling himself, but he would love to live the fantasy a little longer. 

“Would that be okay?” Mickey asks, biting his lip nervously. He’s sure he could get by on his own, but he wants Ian there, for as long as he can have him. “I mean, I don’t wanna put you out any more than I already have. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you looking after D for me while I've been in here.” 

“Mick.” Ian sighs, cupping the side of Mickey’s face. “I like looking after Diesel. I love the damn dog. And I love you. So don’t thank me for helping you when you need it. I want to be there for you. And honestly, the idea of staying with you a little longer is really appealing.” Ian pinched Mickey’s chin between his fingers, tipping his head up so they were eye to eye. “I would love to stay with you as long as you need me to.” 

Mickey stared at Ian. Mouth open, eyebrows high on his forehead. Ian stared back, confused. 

“What? You asked me to stay with you, I said I would. Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You just said you love me.” Mickey replied, voice soft. 

Ian’s whole body went ice cold, then burning hot in a matter of seconds. 

Oh fuck. 

God damn it. 

He wasn’t supposed to say that. Not yet, and obviously not so soon after such a traumatic experience. 

He fucked up good this time, and there’s no taking it back. 

“Mick...” Ian started, voice quivering. 

Mickey just beamed at him, cupping a hand around the back of his head. He drew Ian down into a sweet, gentle kiss. “Jesus christ, Ian.” Mickey huffed. “I love you too.” 

“You do?” Ian had not expected that. 

“Yeah, I do.” Mickey chuckled, shaking his head. He knows, logically, that they haven’t been together that long. Not long at all. But the time they have spent together has been like the Ultimate Relationship Test. 

Mickey has never been in love. He had thought he was, once or twice before, but now he knows that was just lust and infatuation. 

Because he’s never felt this way about anyone before. 

Ian is god damn everything. That thought should probably scare the shit out of him. But with Ian next to him, it’s really hard to feel afraid. 

"Oh." Ian huffed. "Good." 

Mickey smiled, huffing a relieved breath. “Good.” he kissed Ian softly before pulling back and flopping down on the bed. “Since you’re being so accommodating, you wanna pack up those things of mine in the wardrobe and drawers over there?” he pointed to the standing dresser in the corner of the room. 

Ian rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Sure, Mick. Whatever you need.” 

*** 

“Oh my god! It’s sooo good to see you!” Cal squealed, curling his body around Mickey. The smaller man squeezed tightly, forcing a pained gasp out of Mickey. 

“Cal, baby.” Teddy said, gently prying his overexcited husband off Mickey. “He’s wounded, remember.” 

“Oh! Fuck me!” Cal yelped, jumping back from Mickey like he’d been burned. “Sorrysorrysorry. I fogot! Stupid!” Cal thumped himself on the forehead with a closed fist. “You literally just got out of the hospital.” 

“It’s okay.” Mickey smiled, amused. “It’s nice to be home.” 

Mickey flopped down on his sofa, grinning when Diesel came into view. Ian had a hand wrapped around his collar, holding him back. The dog whined and barked, pulling hard to get to Mickey, but Ian wasn’t taking any chances. He led the dog over, but refused to let him jump all over Mickey. 

Like their neighbor just did. 

“Welcome home, Mickey.” Teddy said, offering his hand. Mickey smiled up at him, shaking his hand. “You gave us all a real scare that night.” 

“Tell me about it.” Mickey agreed, opening his arms for his pup, as he clamored over. “D! Didja miss me, buddy?” The dog whined pitifully, rubbing his face all over Mickey’s knees. “I know, pal.” Mickey whispered, kissing the dog’s massive head. “I’m here now, it’s all good.” 

Diesel barked, laying down and resting his head of Mickey’s feet. 

Cal and Teddy took sat together on the loveseat, Teddy’s hand on Cal’s knee. Ian carefully took a seat next to Mickey on his uninjured side. He wrapped his arm around Mickey’s shoulder, pulling them close together. 

It felt incredible to be home. Back in Mickey’s apartment with Diesel, just hanging out with their friends. 

“So, you’re obviously going to tell us everything.” Cal said, smirking. 

“Not if it jeopardizes the case, baby.” Teddy countered. Cal rolled his eyes. 

Ian snickered. 

“Of course not!” Cal shot back, slapping his husband’s shoulder before turning back to Ian and Mickey. “But isn’t there anything you can tell me? I’m dying here.” he blinked innocently over at Ian and Mickey, smiling brilliantly. 

Mickey chuckled, rolling his eyes. This guy was just too much. In his long slouchy sweater and his flipping hot pink leggings. Cal was such a character. Flamboyant, unapologetically himself, friendly and energetic. 

Mickey never really saw himself having friends like Cal and Teddy, but he’s incredibly grateful to have them. Especially now, with all this upheaval in his life. 

“Mickeeeey! Iaaaan! Pleeease!” Cal whined. “I subsist on Merlot and gossip. I’m dying here...” 

“I can help with one of those.” Ian said, jumping up. “Wine for Cal. Anyone else? Mick, can you drink on your meds?” 

“Don’t care.” Mickey replied, smirking. “Beer me, bitch.” 

Ian rolled his eyes. “Teddy?” 

“A beer would be nice. Thanks.” 

Ian nodded, moving to the kitchen. Cal turned back to Mickey, eyebrows raised. “Mickey, I know they arrested someone that night. I saw a humongous dude being led away in handcuffs. Tell me, is it one of our less amazing neighbors?” 

Before Mickey could reply, Ian walked back in with one glass of wine and three beers. He passed them out and all four men took long, satisfying drinks. 

But Cal would not be deterred. “Someone here knows something.” he growled. Mickey choked back a laugh. Cal sounded like a miffed chihuahua. 

“I do know that Ian’s older brother is trying to bone my baby sister...” 

“What now?” Cal squealed, clapping happily. “Oh, do tell! Do tell.” 

Ian hid his grin behind his beer bottle. Mickey is the master of distraction and redirection. 

Ian sat back and let Mickey spin the tale of Lip and Mandy’s frankly embarrassing flirtation. Cal and Teddy laughed and Ian just grinned and grinned. 

God, it felt good to have Mickey home. 

*** 

“It’s so nice to be in my own bed again.” Mickey sighed, digging his head into his favorite down pillow. 

“S’nice to have you here.” Ian mumbled back. He was laying on his side, resting his head on Mickey’s uninjured side. Usually, Mickey would be curled around Ian, but with his wounds, he was only comfortable on his back. 

“Be nicer if you’d fuck me.” Mickey shot back, pressing his lips to Ian’s head. 

“Can’t.” Ian replied, sounding disappointed. “Doctor said to wait until the stitches come out.” 

“You asked my doctor when you were allowed to bang me?” Mickey shot back, incredulous. 

“Well, it’s important, and you wouldn't ask her.” 

“Jesus christ.” Mickey chuckled. “You’re unbelievable. So, no fucking, huh? How about we just jerk each other off then?” 

Ian huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Now who’s unbelievable?” 

“Ian, c’mon. I haven’t gotten off in days, man. Where’s your compassion?” 

“My compassion got all used up on your bruises and your stab wound.” 

“Ouch. Low blow.” 

Ian sighed, cupping Mickey’s face. He pressed their foreheads together for a moment before kissing him deeply. “Ten days, Mick. We can do it. It’ll be fine. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I’m gonna be hobbling around hard as a rock for a week and a half.” Mickey groaned. 

“We’ll work it out together.” Ian countered, running his hand up and down Mickey’s stomach, mindful of his stitches. “We’ll see how you’re feeling this weekend, maybe we can speed up the timeline.” 

“Oh yeah, cuz if you’re making me go to that stupid party on Saturday, you best believe you are fucking me after. You owe me.” 

“Mick, that party is for you.” Ian laughed. “To celebrate the end of our stalker saga.” 

“I still can’t believe I let you and Cal con me into that. The only parties I like are the ones I get paid to throw at the station.” 

“That’s a filthy lie.” Ian laughed. “Our friends just want to celebrate the end of our nightmare. I think it’s sweet.” 

“Yeah.” Mickey sighed. “I guess it’s not so bad.” 

“I still can’t believe it’s over.” Ian replied, curling his finger around Mickey’s bare hip. “I was real scared there for a minute.” Ian doesn’t like admitting when he’s scared. Doesn’t like appearing weak. But he has no problem telling Mickey the truth about this. “For months now, it just kept getting worse and worse. I was so afraid something terrible was going to happen. Something we couldn’t come back from.” Ian sighed, kissing Mickey’s bare chest. “It just felt like everything was falling apart and I couldn’t fix it. Couldn't protect you. And then...then I didn’t protect you.” 

“Ian, you fought a knife-wielding maniac to protect me.” Mickey replied. He ran his fingers through Ian’s short red hair, smiling when Ian started nuzzling his neck. “You have done nothing but stand by me this entire time. Not everyone would do that for someone they just dating.” 

“You’re more than that, and you know it.” Ian replied. 

“Yeah.” Mickey sighed. “I know.” 

It was quiet between them for a moment. Just the sound of their breathing, their hearts beating in sync. Ian sighed again, tucking his face into Mickey’s neck. “Mick, what do we do now?” 

“Well, we do the only thing we can. Go back to work, get this trial bullshit over with. I think I'll do another fundraiser with the station, make up for the one that got all fucked up when I almost died.” 

“Mick, don’t say that.” Ian huffed. He didn’t like how cavaliere Mickey was about the stabbing. It wasn’t a joke to Ian at all. 

“Sorry, Ian.” Mickey replied, contrite. “But if you really wanna know what I think our next step is, I think we move the fuck on. We fight our way back to the life we were building together.” 

“Fight our way back, huh?” Ian said, turning so he and Mickey were eye to eye again. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Thought you might.” Mickey grinned, leaning in for another slow, sweet kiss. “So that’s what we’ll do. We’ll fucking fight for what’s ours.” 

“Yeah.” Ian said, kissing Mickey again. “That sounds real nice.” 

Mickey smiled, patting Ian’s face gently. 

“I love you, Mick.” Ian said suddenly. “I’m so fucking happy you’re okay.” 

Mickey’s smile softened, his eyes lighting up. “I love you too, Ian. Now go the fuck to sleep, this god damn Percocet make me sleepy as hell.” 

Ian chuckled, pressing one last kiss to his boyfriend’s lips before turning off the light and curling around Mickey’s body. 

Silence surrounded them as they drifted off together toward unconsciousness. For the first time since they met, there was nothing to keep them from rest. No worry over unrequited feelings, no stalker, no hateful coworkers. 

Just Ian and Mickey and the promise to face the world together, hands entwined. 

It was the best night’s sleep either of them had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i sound like a broken record, but writing has been painfully hard for me since about may of this year. my life has been a chaotic mess of anxiety, depression, old wounds and new worries. it's no excuse, but sometimes life is so fucked up, you don't have room in your head for anything but survival.
> 
> but enough doom & gloom! i'm back on the horse, and riding high. hopefully you will all like how this one ends.


	8. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally free of their stalkers and their troubles, the future looks pretty bright for Ian and Mickey.
> 
> *note* any and all police work, investigation techniques, criminal charges & prison sentences are the work of google. i'm not in law enforcement, and i'm certainly not a lawyer. just remember, this is fiction. so if it's wrong, that's on me and the Great Google in the Sky...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is it. we've reached the end of the line with this one. i know it's been a bumpy ride, but we made it. thanks for sticking with me.

Six Months Later 

Mickey tugs on the collar of his stupid button up shirt. Why did he agree to this? This is not just a stupid idea, it’s a Crazy Idea, wrapped up in a Terrible Idea, dripping in Mistake Sauce. 

And yet, Mickey grabs his suit jacket before he can talk himself out of it, pulling it on with an aggravated huff. 

He stares at himself in the mirror. He's standing in his bedroom in an all-black suit that fits him sinfully well. He turns in the mirror, smiling softly to himself. 

Okay....maybe the suit’s not that bad. 

Mickey actually looks hot as hell. 

The suit is all black, of course. The jacket and pants are so black they almost look blue, with a sleek black satin strip down the leg. His shirt is black satin also, silky against his bare skin since he forewent and undershirt. He fiddles with the blood red tie around his neck, the only stitch of color on his entire body. 

He didn’t want to wear a tie, but Tobias was insistent. Told Mickey over and over that this wasn’t like one of their usual events. No biker bars, no half naked cocktail waitresses, no rock music blaring, no beer pong tournament. 

This is a new type of event for WROX. But if the last six months have taught Mickey anything, it taught him that change is good. Embracing something new often leads to incredible things. 

Even if said new thing makes you nervous as hell. 

That’s what this night is about, in more ways than one. Making changes, taking chances, doing things that are new and daunting. 

Tonight is WROX’s first ever fundraiser for LoveFirst, a new Chicago-based LGTBQIA+ charity that has been doing incredible work for the community over the past two years. Mickey had the foundation’s founder, a transwoman named Natalie Morris, on the show a couple months ago. She talked about the homeless youth shelter she set up on the west side of the city. That was just the beginning for LoveFirst. They had counselling programs, GED classes and Pathway to College programs. They gave grants for HIV medications to people that didn’t have insurance and started the city’s first Safety Van, that cruised the worst neighborhoods in town, passing out free condoms and offering on-site STD tests to the neighborhood’s hookers and homeless population. 

Natalie told Mickey about LoveFirst starting the first LGTB domestic violence shelter and their after-school program for questioning kids. Their charity drag shows and free holiday meals for people without family to visit. 

The more Mickey heard, the more excited he got. There was nothing like that for kids when he was that age. He can’t help but wonder if his own life would have been different if he’d have had a safe space to go to after a beating from his father. 

After the interview was over, Mickey had cornered Natalie and straight up begged her to let him throw a fundraiser for her organization. 

Now, months later, the night has arrived. 

And Mickey is regretting all his decisions. 

Mickey shook his head, willing away his anxious thoughts. Everything is going to be great. It is all going to go according to plan. Mickey has no reason to think otherwise. 

It hasn’t been an easy few months, and Mickey thinks he deserves a good night. 

After he was released from the hospital following the stabbing at the nightclub, Marsha and her team worked quickly. Charging Shane and both his children with a multitude of crimes in connection with Mickey’s stalking case. 

Although Shane tried to take the blame for the whole debacle, Chicago PD’s computer forensics unit had Marcus and Scarlet both dead to rights. Marcus’s charges were the least severe of the trio. Charged with cyberstalking and harassment via electronic device. The judge took into account the fact that Marcus was a minor with no criminal record. Also of note was the fact that Marcus was unaware of the more violent threats made by his sister. He may have gotten the whole nasty ball rolling with his schoolboy crush on steroids, but he had nothing to do with Scarlet’s viciousness or Shane’s physical assault. 

Mickey had even gone down and testified on the kid’s behalf during the sentencing phase. Since Marcus had pleaded guilty to his charges, the only thing left to do was consider his punishment. 

Ian and Mandy had both been against Mickey testifying for the kid, but Mickey wouldn’t be deterred. Marcus was just a confused kid. His mom worked a lot, leaving him alone with his sister, who was clearly hateful and unstable. He’d never threatened Mickey, never even spoke rudely to him. The kid needed help, not jail time. 

And that’s what Mickey told the judge. 

Imagine Mickey’s surprise when she’d listened. 

Marcus was currently halfway through a year-long sentence in a locked psych unit for juvenile criminals. Mickey’s not sure that’s much better than prison. (Ian’s told him some pretty awful stories from his days in Cook County’s psych unit.) But at least the kid was getting the dedicated, intensive therapy he needed to get better. And the place was right in the middle of the city, not upstate like the prisons. So Marcus could get visits from his mom and Trent. 

Theresa had been wary at first. Unsure if Marcus’s continuing presence in her son’s life was in Trent’s best interest. Mickey didn’t try to sway her one way or the other. He was her son, and no matter how much Mickey felt for the pair of teenagers, Mickey couldn’t interfere with Theresa’s raising of her own kid. 

So the first few times Mickey and Ian went up to visit Marcus, it was with letters from Trent in tow instead of the kid himself. 

To say that Marcus was surprised to see them would have been a massive understatement. He’d actually looked terrified, as if Ian or Mickey would choose a public place, a state-owned metal facility at that, to attack the kid. It took Ian and Mickey several long minutes of calm persuasion before the kid lowered his hackles. But over that first visit, Ian and Mickey convinced the kid that they only wanted to help him get better. To offer advice and support as he served his sentence, so he’d be better equipped in the future to protect himself from people who would take advantage of him, push him into bad situations. 

Like his own sister had. 

After Marcus had accepted that Ian and Mickey were not there for bloody revenge, he warmed up to them considerably. They traded letters between Marcus and Trent for two months before Theresa was comfortable with the idea of letting Trent accompany them to the hospital to visit. 

Now Mickey’s not some kinda soft bitch. And if anyone asks, he’ll deny it to his last breath, but when Mickey saw the look on Marcus’s face when Trent came into view, well, he may or may not have gotten a little choked up. The two boys embraced like they were reuniting after returning from war, not mere weeks apart, halfway across the city from each other. 

It was sweet, and sad and felt a little bit like a tragedy, as all teenage angsty moments do. But since then, the boys have had regular visits. First with Ian and Mickey, then with Theresa herself, after she finally warmed up to the idea that maybe Marcus wasn’t a bad influence on her son after all. 

He was just a confused, lonely kid that tried to reach out to his idol in the wrong way, and got swept up in his family’s hatred and misguided attempts to ‘fix him.’ 

If Mickey can’t relate to that shit... 

So yeah, he kinda took the kid under his wing. Ian has a soft spot for him too, after the detention center discovered he suffered from a handful of undiagnosed mental illnesses. Anxiety, depression, insomnia. ADHD with a dyslexia chaser. The poor kid had told Mickey he just thought he was dumb and crazy. 

And Mickey’s heart broke all over again. 

So Mickey and Ian made it a point to visit Marcus at least once every two weeks. Sometime Trent tagged along. Other times the kid went on his own or with his mom. The only other visitor the Marcus got was his mother. But Marcus told Mickey that visits from Mary Ellen were few and far between. Mickey’s not sure if that’s because his mother’s too busy, or if she feels guilty over the predicament her children are in. 

Everyone in the building knows that Mary Ellen has to work long hours to take care of her kids. What with Shane being a total deadbeat and all. But Mickey has a feeling her lack of visitation has more to do with her dropping the ball so hard with her kids. Mickey knows the blame doesn’t fall squarely on her shoulders, but reality has very little to do with emotions in these situations. 

Mickey knows a thing or two about having family in prison, but not his own kids. He can’t imagine what Mary Ellen is going through, with both her kids and her ex-husband incarcerated for this crazy bullshit. 

Because Marcus wasn’t the only one to face the judge over this shit. Scarlet had her day in court a month before her brother, and it went decidedly worse for her. The police had much more evidence of her involvement in the stalking. Pages and pages of violent emails and threats against both Ian and Mickey. They even finally got some real evidence that she’d made most of the phone calls to the station, through specific speech patterns only she used. 

The worst mark against her had to be that poor bird, though. Mickey still shivers when he thinks about it. Mickey has seen Scarlet in action, and even he can’t fathom the girl snapping a bird’s neck like that. But Marsha had told him they found a single partial fingerprint on the inside of the box the bird came in. 

It came back a match to Scarlet Davis. And that was pretty much the end of the fight for her. 

Mickey was surprised when the jury came back with a four-year sentence to be served at Decatur. Guilty of cyber stalking, stalking, assault, and animal cruelty. 

Scarlet had looked devastated, but Mickey felt no pity for her. 

At least she would still be getting a mental health evaluation while incarcerated. Mickey’s not sure what the hell’s wrong with that girl, but she’s clearly not right in the head. 

Shane, on the other hand, got sent up the god damn river. Even though he failed in his attempt to take all the blame, he was still the one who initiated the physical assault at the bar. He's still the one who stabbed Mickey. So even if his involvement with the stalking that led to the assault was non-existent, he still had literal blood on his hands. 

So, considering his previous criminal record, Shane got seven years at Beckman. Mickey doesn’t envy him at all. 

Mickey can understand the dude’s desire to protect his kids, but the massive scar on Mickey’s ribs makes it hard to feel sympathy for him. 

Mickey shakes his head, willing thoughts of the stalkers and the trial out of his head. That shit is done now. Even if Mickey and Ian are visiting Marcus at his program, they don’t like to dwell on the past anymore. 

So Mickey gives himself one more look in the mirror, fiddling with his hair a little before deciding this is as good as it’s gonna get. 

Just as he’s making his way out into the hall, a knock on his door sends Diesel into an utter tizzy. The dog leapt off the couch, lumbering wildly toward the door, barking his fool head off. 

“D! Shut up! We both know who it is. Jesus.” Mickey muttered, grabbing his keys and his phone off the kitchen counter and making his way over to the door. “Coming!” 

Mickey rips the door open and smiles. There’s Ian. 

Dressed to the nines in a black suit and emerald green shirt, black tie standing out in contrast on his broad chest. Mickey lets his eyes roam, taking in the bulge of his biceps in the suit jacket, his god damn tree trunk thighs, the pale column of his throat against the black of his suit. Mickey licks his lips, grinning up at Ian. 

“Hey.” Mickey smiles, leaning in as Ian cups the back of his head, dragging him into a slow, sweet kiss. “M’ready if you are.” 

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t ready.” Ian teases, smiling. 

Mickey nods, leading Ian out of the apartment and into the hall. Ian leans up against the wall as Mickey locks the door to his house. They knock shoulders as they make their way to the elevator, chatting idly about their respective days. 

As Mickey made his way down to the garage beside his boyfriend, his mind was inevitably drawn back to the past six months they spent together. 

After the stalker business was squared away, Ian had decided to quit his job at the firm and go into business for himself. Working from home while he was suspended had given Ian a freedom in his life he’d been sorely lacking. Now, most of his accounts are various non-profits around the greater Chicago area. He is much more satisfied helping shelters, community theaters, animal sanctuaries and after school programs save money. He gets an actual rush out of finding them ways to save money, help more people, bring more joy into the world. He never felt that way helping some millionaire hide his earnings in the Cayman Islands or helping some business mogul buy yet another yacht. 

Ian feels better about himself now than he has since his diagnosis. He’s told Mickey that he is a big part of that. Which just turns Mickey into a big pile of giddy goo. He’s so happy, making Ian happy. It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. 

Over the past six months, they’ve spent all their free time together, enjoying what a new relationship should be like. 

They go on dates. Dinner, movies, the god damn theater. (Mickey never anticipated actually paying to see Sweeny Todd, but he would do it all over again to see Ian grinning like that.) They had quiet dates at home, with Netflix and take out. They went away for the weekend to a little bed and breakfast outside the city. They went to a couple concerts, even went dancing once. 

They spent long nights tangled up together in bed, talking about their dreams for the future, their traumas of the past. Their families and their friends from childhood. The teased each other about their shared criminal pasts, their youthful misdeeds. The shared all that inane ‘getting to know you’ stuff that didn’t have a chance to come up while they were fighting for their lives. 

Now, six months later, Mickey is certain of one thing above all else: Ian is it for him. He’s done, stick a fucking fork in him. No one will ever compare. No one makes him laugh like Ian. No one can calm his violent temper like Ian. No one soothes him when he’s anxious like Ian. No one can keep up with his excited yammering about music like Ian. 

And no one can fuck him like Ian. 

So yeah, Mickey’s made his choice. He’s all in, forever, no matter what. 

After the stalker situation was neutralized, Ian moved back to his apartment. It was a bigger adjustment than either of them expected. They had only been staying together a short time during the police investigation, but they’d both gotten comfortable very quickly. 

It had been nice to see Ian’s smiling face as soon as Mickey got home from work. It was amazing to go to bed in each other’s arms, wake up tangled together in the morning. Shower sex after a dinner-cooking disaster, or cuddling on the couch and watching a boxing match on pay-per-view. It had all felt so wonderfully natural. 

But they’d agreed after the arrests, they just weren’t ready to take that step yet. They wanted to spend some more time on the newness of the dating phase before they jumped right into permanent cohabitation. 

So Ian went home. It was a small thing that felt really big, but it was important to both of them to do this right. It was too special to fuck up. 

Mickey misses Ian a lot when he’s not around. But he’s usually right down the hall, so that’s nice. 

Six months flew by, and now Mickey’s ready to make another exciting change. 

“C’mon.” Mickey said, smiling up at his boyfriend. He laced their fingers together, tugging Ian toward the door. “We can’t be late to our own benefit.” 

*** 

“Oh my god! Look at this place!” Cal crows, spinning in a circle in the ballroom. He takes in the massive space with wide eyes and a huge smile on his face. Teddy is grinning beside him, arm slung around Cal’s slim shoulders as they wander into the event space. 

The place looks amazing. The ballroom of the Sheraton on the north side of Chicago was kind enough to host Mickey’s event, and the station has clearly gone all out. 

The ballroom is decked out in a mass of rainbows. Every pride flag imaginable is displayed, draped along the massive walls, along with decorative streamers and balloons. There’s a disco ball and glitter on the tables. The centerpieces are amazing. Painted mason jars full of rainbow colored gerber daisies. It’s like the coolest gay wedding ever, except it’s just a party. 

Cal is in heaven. 

“It’s nice.” Teddy agrees easily. His Cal has always been so excitable. It’s still adorable, all these years later. 

“Hey guys.” Mickey calls, catching them by surprise. 

Cal spins on the spot, his face split into a wide smile. “Mickey!” he launches himself into Mickey’s arms, clinging like a drunk baby koala. Mickey grunts, lurching under the extra weight. He wraps his arms around Cal instinctively, turning to stare at Teddy incredulously. 

Teddy chuckles, shaking his head as he wanders over and peels his husband off a clearly amused Mickey. “Sorry. You know how he gets at these things.” 

“Open bar.” Ian declares with a smile, coming up behind Mickey and curling an arm around his shoulders. 

“You know how it is.” Teddy grins back, nodding. “C’mon Cal-baby, let’s go sit for a bit. I’ll get you some of that sushi from the snack table.” 

“And another martini?” Cal squeaks happily, leaning into his husband. 

“Let’s eat, first, okay?” Teddy says, smiling to Ian and Mickey. “We’re over there.” he adds, pointing to a table by the stage. Mickey glances over, see Theresa, Mandy, Lip and a few other people from their building. Even the ballarina twins bought tickets to the event. Mickey made sure to have Fitzy mark a certain percentage of the tickets for public sale. Not just donors and rich sponsors. Mickey wanted to make this event like all their others. 

For their fans, and the public they serve through their charity. 

“We’ll be over soon.” Mickey says, waving to them. He made sure that he and Ian would be seated with their friends, and not some hotshots from the station. That’s no fun for anyone. Especially since this is Ian’s first company event since the attack. Mickey wants Ian to feel safe and comfortable all night, and the best way to ensure that is to surround him with people who care about him. 

But before they can hide in their little social circle bubble, Mickey has to make the rounds. 

He is supposed to be working, after all. 

So he grabs Ian’s wrist and drags him over to where he can see his coworkers congregating by the stage. The band is setting up behind them, preparing to go on after dinner is served in about a half hour. 

The band, Blood Moon, is a newer band on the scene. Mickey’s been a fan of their music for a few months now. It's not as heavy as the shit they usually play on WROX, more melodic, but with heavy guitar and deep, sorrowful lyrics. It’s powerful shit. Like Deftones and Fear Factory had a baby. And the lead vocalist and guitarist happen to be very gay, very out, and very proud. 

They were the perfect pick for this event. Mickey called them personally, and was god damn overjoyed when they agreed. Phil and Jeff are awesome guys. They even decided to donate their entire fee to LoveFirst. 

Fucking class acts. 

Mickey hopes to get to chat with them a little after the event, but the schedule is tight for them. Blood Moon is going on tour in like three days. Mickey knows how lucky he was to book this gig. 

He’s giddy with anticipation. He’s actually more excited for this event than any other the station has thrown. 

Now, he could blame that excitement on the amazing charity, or the badass band, but he knows the real reason is standing next to him, arm draped casually over his shoulder like it’s always been there. 

Mickey smiles to himself, trying to temper his excitement. He’s at work, technically. He can’t go around smiling like a love sick fool and falling all over his boyfriend. Even if tonight is a big night, he needs to keep his head on straight. 

They finally make their way over to the stage. Fitzy and Kenny are chatting idly with Tobias while the band fiddles with their gear a few feet away. Mickey slips free of Ian’s grasp and sidles up next to Fitzy. 

Fitzy looks bizarre, as always. Rocking tight red leather pants and a black silk shirt. He’s got a blood red tie and no suit jacket. His neck is adorned with a black leather choker, and he’s got red gems in both his ears. With the dark kohl around his eyes and his black hair falling in his face, he looks like some kind of emo vampire goth. It’s not a bad look for him. 

“How’s it going?” Mickey asks casually, trying his hardest not to smile too wide. 

“Hey Mick, Ian.” Fitzy smiles, extending a hand to both. They take turns greeting him. “So far so good. We got a really big turnout, which’ll be great for the charity. I was worried, y’know, since...” 

“Since this is the station’s first event since the stabbing.” Ian finished, a grim look on his face. 

“Well yeah.” Fitzy replied, cringing a bit. He still can’t talk about it without getting all weird. Mickey doesn’t blame him, it’s a touchy subject for all parties involved. “The suits weren’t too keen on having another event so soon after, especially after what we learned about Alexis.” 

Then it was Mickey’s turn to cringe. “Yeah, any news on that?” Mickey asked, his anxiety spiking uncomfortably. Ian must have sensed it, coming to stand right behind him and curling his arms around his middle, expensive suits be damned. 

“Um, yeah.” Fitzy nodded, turning to Kenny. “Pratt, why don’t you tell ‘em what you heard today from the corporate office?” 

Kenny huffed out a humorless laugh, sauntering over. He looked supremely uncomfortable in his light grey suit. It was well-tailored, and went quite nice with his slate-colored shirt, black tie. But he likes dressing up just about as much as Mickey does, and you could see it on his face plain as day. 

“Well, after the trials for your family band of stalkers was over and done with, and word got out about what Lexi had done, well, it went poorly for her.” 

“You mean how she was corresponding with Marcus for months? Shit talking me and how gay people are a cancer on humanity?” Mickey spat, angry all over again. He’d only just found out about this too, since it only came out after the trial. It was supposed to be part of Marcus’s sealed juvenile record, but some asshole at the courthouse leaked it to the press, eager for a payday. The Mad Dog Mick Stalker Trial was a big deal in Chicago for a while there. 

“Yeah, that.” Kenny agreed, shaking his head. “I know you read those articles too. Even if the cops won’t charge her with anything, corporate decided they were gonna dole out a little punishment of their own.” 

“Huh?” Mickey replied, cocking an eyebrow. This is the first he’s hearing of this. He glanced at Ian behind him, who just shook his head, clearly confused too. They both looked back at Kenny, waiting for him to continue. 

Kenny grinned, glancing over to where Tobias was chatting up some of WROX’s higher ups. People not even Mickey deals with on the regular. “Toby had the suits put out a statement. Lexi’s been blackballed from the industry. She's done.” 

Mickey’s mouth dropped open. He could feel his eyes bugging out of his head. 

“Just like that?” he heard Ian ask, sounding as incredulous as Mickey feels in that moment. 

Kenny nodded gravely. “Radio is just like any other industry. Word gets around. No one wants a trouble maker on their team. And Lexi was nothing but trouble since she was brought on at WROX. It was all well documented. The suits wanted her to add a bit of drama to the show. Get people’s blood up, get some good debates going. But all she did was bring us the wrong kind of attention. Her fans are racist, homophobic, sexist xenophobes. Toby and the higher ups didn’t want all that. Add to that the fact that she tried to trick a sick kid into attacking Mick, well... The President of WROX himself called every single station owner he knows, warned them off her. After that, it was like a boulder rolling downhill. She’ll never work in radio again; I can guarantee it.” 

Mickey nodded, biting his lip. He’s glad Lexi won’t be spreading her toxicity all over the American airwaves anymore. Mickey never liked her anyway. Learning that she had been sending Marcus messages on Twitter and Instagram, stoking the fires of his hatred, well, that had enraged Mickey. 

The messages were just tragic. Marcus had reached out to Lexi after his messages to Mickey went unanswered. Mickey hadn’t wanted to read them, but he was just so curious. 

Lexi’s messages to the kid had started out supportive. Acting like she sympathized, pretending to understand the poor kid. Then, once she got her hooks in him, she started in on the homophobic bullshit. How Marcus could fix himself. How he needed to ask his family to help him, send him somewhere to get better. 

The fact that Lexi had deigned to suggest fucking conversion therapy boiled Mickey’s blood. 

But Lexi wasn’t done. After eviscerating Marcus’s self-worth, she messaged Scarlet, stoking her hatred until it spilled out all over her entire family, and the alley behind Lowbar. 

Baiting a confused kid into becoming stalker is some cold shit. Convincing a young gay boy that he’s damaged goods is worse. Mickey almost wants to feel bad for Lexi. Losing her career and all the clout she earned working in the industry. But Mickey can’t muster up any sympathy for her. 

Much like Shane, Lexi was an adult, who knew exactly what she was doing when she sent those private messages. 

So no, Mickey doesn’t feel bad to hear that Lexi won’t ever work in radio again. Honestly, fuck her. 

“Fuck her.” Mickey voices his thoughts, eliciting chuckles from Kenny and Fitzy. Ian just tightens his grip in support. 

“Indeed, my friend.” Kenny smirks. “So the next order of business is to replace her.” 

“Oh yeah.” Mickey nodded, smirking. “We’ll have to get on that right away.” Mickey is close to giggling, feeling excitement bubbling up inside him. 

Ian smiles along, already in on this particular surprise. “Got any ideas, Mick? For a replacement?” 

“Oh, I can get you a short list.” Fitzy offers with a smile. 

“Nah, I don’t think we’ll need that.” Mickey smirks, turning toward Kenny. “Whadaysay, Ken, can we tell ‘em?” 

Kenny chuckles, shrugging. “Go on then, Mick. It’s your show.” 

Mickey smiled, leaning back against Ian’s broad chest as he glanced over at his friends. Kenny and Fitzy are more like family these days. Mickey is overcome in that moment by how lucky he is. How did he not notice he was surrounded by so many wonderful people? 

“Fitz, me and Kenny talked with Toby and the suits. We wanna find a new producer.” 

“You what?” Fitzy’s face went ash white in a nanosecond. “What? What did I do?” 

“No!” Mickey balked. He worded that wrong. Shit. “We need a new producer cuz we want you ON the show with us. As our third co-star. We don’t wanna fire you!” 

Kenny chuckled, shaking his head. “Fitzy, man. You can’t think we’d just let you go.” 

“But I've never been on the other side of the mic.” Fitzy shot back, going from ghost-pale to tomato-red in an instant. “I haven’t been on radio since my college days.” 

“Fitz, man.” Mickey interjected, smiling. He stepped away from Ian to grip Fitzy’s shoulders. “You know more about music than anyone I've ever met. You’re smart. You know politics, fucking pop culture. The bands on our station, new ones coming up. Movies, TV, fucking internet trends. You know it all. You’ll be a great addition to the show.” 

Fitzy shook his head with a grin. “You guys mean it?” 

Kenny chuckled, nodding. “We sure do, you little shit. So what do you say?” 

“Well....yes, obviously.” Fitzy replied, clearly elated. 

“Oh thank god.” Mickey grinned, pulling Fitzy into a hug. “I didn’t wanna interview any new assholes. I’m gun shy after that last bitch.” 

Fitzy hugged him back and the four of them laughed loud and long. 

Mickey was relieved. Fitzy would make a great addition to the team, and this was the perfect way to start the night. 

*** 

“Even though I make a living talking, this is not the kind of public speaking I’m used to.” Mickey starts his speech. He gets a laugh with his opening statement, and his nerves ease a bit. 

When the foundation asked him to speak at the fundraiser, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it. He’s not a social justice warrior, he’s not a charity worker or a public servant. Sure, he raises a shit ton of money for these kinds of people, but he’s not one of them. He just like to help where he can, now that he can. 

But Emma asked him specifically to do this. So here he is, up on stage, eyes on the massive crowd as he speaks about what LoveFirst means for Chicago, means to him. 

“When I was a kid, growing up on the south side, there weren’t places like Andy’s Place or The Monroe House. When my dad beat me for listening to ‘queer boy’ music like Prince or Bowie, I couldn’t go down to a youth shelter and talk to someone like Emma or Maggie or Daryl or any of the amazing queer people I’ve met through LoveFirst. When I first started...” Mickey cleared his throat, reminding himself that he wanted to be honest tonight. “When I first started exploring my sexuality, there weren’t Safety Vans roaming the streets. I didn’t even know what lube was until I’d been having sex for over a year. Hookups were nameless, casual affairs, and condoms were non-existent. A kid I knew from down by the docks got HIV. That easily coulda been me. Julio is dead now, and I just know he coulda been a force in this community if given the chance. 

That’s why we are here tonight. To support this amazing charity that does so much for the LGTB plus community in Chicago. I’m here for Emma’s trans awareness disco nights. I’m here for Maggie’s tireless work down at the Rainbow Kids Homeless Shelter. I’m here for Daryl, who drives the damn Safety Van six nights a week, making sure kids like me have access to all the supplies they need to make their sex as safe as possible. 

With the help of LoveFirst, STD infection rates are down in Chicago by twelve percent, teen pregnancy is down twenty five percent. We have more kids in shelters and in foster care instead of living on the streets. LoveFirst has helped seventeen teen prostitutes get off the streets, get their lives back. 

And this is only the beginning. With your help, we can do so much more. The foundation is in talks with several buildings, hoping to open an LGTB addiction treatment facility. We want to open another group home for the state’s transgender and gender non-conforming teens who have nowhere to go. With your help, LoveFirst and WROX can continue to change the lives of at risk LGTB youth for years to come. 

So please, enjoy your evening. Drink, eat and dance. The silent auction starts at nine p.m. See Fitzy for the list of prizes. And please, if you’re queer, or love a queer person, or if you’re just a decent human being, open your wallets and give tonight. We’re in the business of saving lives. Thank you.” 

The crowd erupted in raucous applause and Mickey smiled, waving as he made his way off the stage and into Ian’s waiting arms. 

“Damn, Mick.” Ian huffed, kissing Mickey soundly on the mouth. “You’re gonna have me busy doing paperwork for these donations for weeks.” 

“That’s the plan.” Mickey grinned back, returning the kiss eagerly. “Now, what’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?” 

Ian rolled his eyes, but was still smiling widely. “All you gotta do is ask, Mick.” 

*** 

“I think you did great.” Ian smiles, curling his hand tighter around Mickey’s waist as he sways them along the dance floor to the slowest Ozzy song ever. “And three different businesses have already approached me about how to set up tax-deductible donations to LoveFirst.” 

“No shit?” Mickey replies, unable to temper his smile. This night has been a massive success. Probably the best fundraiser WROX has ever put off. It settles in Mickey’s stomach, a warm feeling. He did this. It was his idea, he pitched it to Tobias and the suits. He wanted to make this happen for those queer kids and he did it. 

He’s proud of all the charity work they do through the station, but this one is personal, and it feels like so much more than just money. 

It feels like he’s changing lives of kids like him. Lost, scared kids on the brink of a nothing, nowhere life. 

Mickey’s not gonna cry, but he can admit his chest feels a little tight. 

Not to mention he’s growing anxious. He’s ready for the big surprise of the evening, but now that the moment has presented itself, his nerves are back full force. He bites his lip and stares up at his boyfriend. Ian is already staring at him, his eyes bright. Ian’s lips stretch into a wide smile, his hands curl around Mickey’s hips as they sway to the gentle electric guitar. 

Mickey swallows, his heart drumming fast in his chest. He licks his lips, opening his mouth, but Ian speaks first. 

“The auction went well.” Ian says, still smiling. 

“I should say so.” Mickey chuckled, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you paid two grand to have dinner with me. I do that shit for free, like all the time.” 

Ian blushes, pulling Mickey closer. “Well, I couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else getting to take you out, Mick. Especially that socialite bitch. Not even twenty years old and she was undressing you with her eyes all night. Thinks she can buy your time. Looking at you like she can pay her way into your pants.” Ian’s growling by the end of the sentence and Mickey’s heart feels like it’s gonna burst right outta his chest. 

“You’re jealous.” Mickey grinned, smug and satisfied. “That’s cute.” 

“Shut up.” Ian huffs, but he’s still smiling. “It’s just, you’re mine.” the last part slips out quietly, but Mickey hears it all the same. Mickey blushes all the way up to his ears, but can’t look away. He curls his hand around the back of Ian’s head, pulling him down into a gentle kiss. Mickey instantly desperate to deepen it, but he is still at a work function. 

“Sure am.” Mickey mutters against Ian’s lips. “Let’s get outta here.” He’d planned to surprise Ian at the benefit, but now all he wants to do is take him home. He suddenly wants privacy for that moment, wants Ian all to himself. 

“What about the rest of the benefit?” Ian asks, but he’s already undressing Mickey with his eyes, fingers digging into his hips near-painfully. 

Mickey loves it. 

“The benefit’s over.” Mickey replies. “We ate, I spoke, we took all these rich folks to the cleaners in the name of charity, we danced.” Mickey punctuates that statement with a little sway of his hips, eliciting a chuckle from his boyfriend. “Now, I wanna go home, and I want you to come with me.” 

“Yeah.” Ian breathes, resting their foreheads together. “Let’s go.” 

“Good.” Mickey grins, stepping back and taking Ian’s hand. “Let’s say the fastest set of professional goodbyes and get the fuck outta here.” 

“Whatever you want, Mick.” Ian hums, kissing Mickey’s temple as they made their way back toward Mickey’s coworkers to bid them farewell. 

Mickey is still humming with excitement. Just a little while longer... 

*** 

“Yes, D. Sit. C’mon! Sit your dumb ass down.” Mickey huffs, smiling at his stupid dog. He wanders around the kitchen, grabbing Diesel’s dry dog food and pouring some into his bowl. “Here, you glutton.” 

Diesel barks happily, trundling over to rub his wet nose along Mickey’s ankle as Mickey finishes pouring out his dinner. He pats the dog on the head and leaves him to it, wandering back into the living room. He loosens his tie and drops onto the couch with a sigh, kicking his shoes off. 

Ian had gone back to his own place to grab some stuff he needed. After the stalker case was closed, and Ian moved back to his own place, he took all his stuff with him. His soft clothes, his books and CDs, his meds and toothbrush and all his little toiletries and comfort items. 

Mickey’s not ashamed to admit that he misses looking around his house and seeing little bits of Ian everywhere. 

Mickey shakes his head, feeling silly for being so sentimental. Besides, he’s got more important things to think about right now. 

As if summoned by Mickey’s thoughts, there was a knock on his front door. Mickey knew it was Ian, so he didn’t bother to get up. He heard Ian open and close the door, kick his shoes off and shuffle toward the living room. 

Of course, Diesel heard too, yipping happily as he made a mad dash for the front hall. 

“D! Hey buddy.” Ian’s voice echoed through the space. Mickey grinned like an idiot but didn’t bother to get up. 

“Hey.” Ian smiled, finally standing in the living room. He dropped his duffel on the floor and crawled onto the couch next to Mickey. “I brought enough shit to stay the whole weekend, if that’s cool.” 

Mickey turned to face him, pulling his knees up onto the cushion. He smiled softly at Ian, reaching out to cup the side of his face in one hand. Ian smiled back, nuzzling into Mickey’s palm. 

“You can stay as long as you want.” Mickey whispered; his blue eyes locked on Ian’s green. “Forever, even.” 

That was not at all how he meant to say that. 

“Ha.” Ian laughed, rolling his eyes. He moved to grab for the remote, probably to restart the episode of Black Mirror they’d been watching, but Mickey stopped him. He wrapped his tattooed fingers around Ian’s wrist and pulled him back against the couch cushions. 

Ian stared at him, eyes wide, but Mickey ignored his confusion. He planted his hands on Ian’s shoulders, swinging a leg over his hips and settling on top of him. 

“Okay, I like where this is going.” Ian laughed, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Keep it in your pants, Gallagher.” Mickey huffed, grinning down at his boyfriend. Even as he could feel Ian’s dick swelling up under his ass, he kept his baser desires in check. 

This shit was important. There was plenty of time to get dicked down after. 

“How can you say that to me, when you’re rubbing your sweet little ass all over me like that?” Ian chuckled, cupping Mickey’s ass in his massive hands and kneading the flesh. 

Mickey groaned, but shook his head. 

Stay on track! 

“Ian,” Mickey started, tone soft. Ian could immediately tell Mickey wasn’t playing, so he took his hands off his ass and rested them on his hips instead. 

“Yeah, Mick?” Ian replied, biting his lip. Mickey looked serious, and while Ian thought they’d had a good night, now he was wracked with anxiety. 

Mickey said nothing, just stared at Ian. 

Had Ian done something wrong? Why would Mickey ask him to spend the night if he was going to, what? Break up with him? 

No. Stop. Anxiety brain is not real. 

Ian took a deep breath and let it out slow. He tried to smile at his boyfriend, who was nervously chewing on his lower lip with his eyebrows pinched together on his forehead. 

“Hey.” Ian said, running his fingers through Mickey’s dark hair. It was full of product from the benefit, the strands sticking together. Mickey curled into the touch anyway, letting out a slow breath of his own. “What’s amatta, Mick? Tell me.” 

“Nothing.” Mickey replied, shaking his head. God, he’s fucking this up. “Everything’s perfect. Well, almost.” 

“What can I do to make it perfect?” Ian asked, curling his fingers around the back of Mickey’s neck. 

Mickey leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. In the small space between their mouths, he whispered “Move in with me.” 

“Wh-what?” Ian choked out, pulling back to stare at his boyfriend. 

“You heard me, Ian.” Mickey replied, forcing himself not to smirk like an asshole. Now was not the time for snark. “We’ve been together eight months now. You stayed here during the case, and it was great, right?” 

Ian’s face flushed bright red, but his eyes were wide open and shining. “Yeah, Mick. It was awesome.” 

Mickey nodded, biting his lip again. “Okay, yeah. So, after the arrests, you went back to your place. Cuz we both decided we wanted to date like a regular couple.” 

“I know, Mick.” Ian smiled. “It was a mutual decision.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Mickey huffed, rolling his eyes. This all went much smoother in his head. “So, we did all that, and I know it’s only been six months since then, but I don’t need no more time to know you’re it for me.” 

“Mick...” Ian sighed, curling his arms around Mickey’s body, pulling them flush together. 

“I mean it, Ian. I know that moving back to your place after the Davis’s went to jail was the right move for us. We’d only started dating, we didn’t know each other that well. You were worried we wouldn’t work out without the drama and chaos to hold us together.” 

“I never said that.” Ian whispered, shaking his head. 

“You didn’t have to.” Mickey replied, sliding his fingers through Ian’s red hair. “I know you. You were anxious that we wouldn’t work out just being normal guys with no danger to keep our blood up.” 

Ian sighed, averting his eyes, and that’s all Mickey needed to know he was right. “It’s okay.” he said, smiling softly. “I’ll admit, I was kinda worried you’d get bored of me after the fight was over too.” 

“Never, Mick.” Ian replied hotly. “I could never get tired of you.” 

“Well, that’s nice to hear.” Mickey chuckled, dipping his head down. He pressed his lips to Ian’s, smiling against his mouth when Ian groaned. Mickey ran his tongue along Ian’s bottom lip before dipping inside to taste him. 

They kissed slowly for a long moment, Ian’s hands roaming along Mickey’s back and ass, palming the muscle roughly as the kiss grew more heated. 

Mickey chuckled into Ian’s open mouth, pulling back reluctantly. He sighed, tipping his head against Ian’s. “So, whatdaya say, Gallagher? Come home?” 

Ian laughed, and it sounded so good. Open and light and full of life. “Yeah, Mick. Of course. Of course I’ll come home.” 

*** 

Mickey’s back hit the bedroom door hard, sending it swinging wildly into the far wall. Mickey grunted, but didn’t pull back. He just dug his fingers into Ian’s hair and shoved his tongue further down his throat. 

Ian growled, his fingers digging into the meat of Mickey’s ass as he easily carried him through the room. 

Mickey will never get over how easily Ian can manhandle him. Pick him up like he weighs nothing and just move him wherever he wants him. It’s a massive turn on, and now is no different. Mickey's dick is straining painfully in his slacks. He arches his back, trying to rub his cock against Ian’s abs, but he’s got zero leverage like this. He barely holds in a whimper as Ian tosses him on the bed and crawls over his prone body. 

The sheets are cool against his bare back. He’s glad they shed their shirts in the living room, but now he feels like an idiot for no stripping entirely. Ian caged him in with an arm on either side of his head, pinning him to the bed with his hips. Mickey sighed, tipping his head back. Just feeling Ian on top of him like this was fucking heavenly. 

Mickey let his legs fall open so Ian could grind against him, tipping his head back to moan at the ceiling when he felt Ian, hard and straining against his thigh. 

“Can’t believe we’re gonna be living together for real.” Ian murmured, nipping and kissing his way along Mickey’s neck. Mickey tipped his head back, hips bucking up as his eyes rolled in his skull. “Can’t believe I get to have you like this whenever I want.” 

Mickey chuckled, cupping Ian’s face and bringing their lips together again. “I still gotta work, yannow. Can’t keep me in bed all the time.” 

“I can try.” Ian replied, kneeling on the bed so he could start stripping Mickey of his pants. 

Mickey laughed, squirming around on the mattress as Ian easily relieved him of his dress pants and boxers before losing his own. As soon as they were naked, Ian grabbed the lube from the nightstand, dropping it in the mess of sheets and resuming his slow grind against Mickey. 

The heat and aggression from the living room was gone now. Instead, Ian’s hands were slow and gentle. He cupped Mickey’s face in one hand, smiling down at him as he dragged his fingers slowly down his chest. 

Mickey sucked in a sharp breath when Ian thumbed at one of his nipples. Ian grinned mischievously, dipping his head down to lick and suck at the little nub. 

“Fuck.” Mickey gasped, arching his back. He dug his fingers into Ian’s hair, gripping the strands tightly as Ian continued to explore his body with his mouth. 

Ian kissed and licked along Mickey’s ribs, running his tongue along the scar tissue from his stabbing. Mickey yelped, his whole body shuddering at the new sensation. Ian moaned, nipping at his abs as his fingers dug into his hips. He tucked his thumbs under the waist of Mickey’s pants, dragging them down so he could dig his teeth into his hips bone. 

Mickey keened, arching off the bed. “Ian...” he groaned. “C’mon.” 

“Okay.” Ian laughed, unzipping Mickey’s suit pants and dragging them and his boxers down and off. He tossed them aside before stripping his own. Once they were both naked, he was on Mickey again in a heartbeat, burying his face in the juncture between hip and thigh. “One of these days, I’m gonna take my time with you. Go slow, get you all worked up ‘til you’re begging for my cock.” 

“M’about to start begging now.” Mickey huffed, squirming. Ian’s mouth was so close to his dick, but he was still using it for talking and not sucking. 

Ian sighed out a little chuckle, grabbing the lube. “Alright, tough guy. Maybe next time.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Next time, promise, just...” his words devolved into a choked moan as Ian swallowed his cock to the root. Mickey’s hands flew up, grabbing onto Ian’s shoulders as the other man bobbed his head. 

Ian was in heaven. Honestly, there was nowhere he’d rather be than right here, right now. With Mickey's hot skin under his fingers, his gorgeous cock leaking down his throat. He’d purr if he could. 

Mickey was making the sweetest noises. Groans and sighs that went straight to Ian’s dick. Ian pulled off, lapping at Mickey’s leaking cock head as he ground his own aching dick into the bedsheets. 

Mickey was whimpering, shifting his hips restlessly. Ian was driving him out of his mind. God, his mouth! Mickey would never tire of this, never tire of sharing this with Ian. 

Mickey was so lost in the delicious pleasure of Ian’s lips and tongue, he jerked in surprise at the feeling of Ian’s wet finger probing between his legs. 

“Oh fuck yeah.” Mickey groaned, spreading his legs wide. Ian chuckled, kissing Mickey’s inner thigh as he slowly circled his rim with two wet fingers. “Ian, you promised, no teasing.” he shimmied his hips, trying to push back on Ian’s hand. Ian smiled, resting his head on Mickey’s knee so he could watch as his fingers sunk into Mickey’s willing body. 

Mickey grunted, tipping his head back as Ian stretched him gently but quickly. Two fingers was plenty and soon Ian was pulling out and bracing himself over Mickey. He grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed. “Up.” he commanded. 

Mickey rolled his eyes, but lifted his hips so Ian could tuck the pillow underneath him. 

“There you go.” Ian murmured, smiling down at his boyfriend. “Good, Mick.”  
Mickey shivered at the simple praise, flexing his thighs as Ian grabbed his dick and rubbed it along his slick, stretched entrance. 

Ian pressed forward slowly, letting them both enjoy the stretch. Mickey was staring up at him, lower lip caught between his teeth, eyes bright and shining. 

He was gorgeous like this. 

Ian leaned down and kissed him, couldn’t help it. Fully seated inside his lover, Ian licked into his mouth, savoring the taste of him. 

Mickey was pulsing his hips, using what little leverage he had to fuck himself on Ian’s cock. Ian laughed through a moan, curling one hand around Mickey’s ass and pulling him onto his dick roughly. 

Mickey moaned, digging his fingers into Ian’s shoulders. “C’mon Red, show me whatcha got.” 

Ian grinned down at Mickey ferally, taking the bait like Mickey knew he would. Hitching Mickey’s leg up onto his hip, Ian started drilling into him hard enough to shake the bed. 

“Yeah.” Mickey groaned, flexing his legs against Ian’s body. “Feels good.” 

Ian grunted, nodding mindlessly as he rocked into Mickey. “You always feel good, Mick. Love being inside you. Love you.” 

Mickey moaned at the words. Even after all this time, it still thrilled him to no end. Being loved by Ian, loving him back, it was more than Mickey ever expected from his life. 

“Love you too, Gallagher. Oh god. Right there.” Pleasure shot up Mickey’s spine as Ian pegged his prostate. “Don’t stop, m’close.” 

“Yeah.” Ian grunted, thrusting harder but not faster. They hardly ever fucked like this. Slow, easy, sweet. Ian ran his hands along Mickey’s chest, pressing his palm against his heart. The steady beat under his fingers, the fine sheen of sweat making his skin glow, the bright blue of his eyes, almost entirely swallowed up by the black of his pupils. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” Ian grunted, fucking into Mickey harder and faster. 

He’s not gonna last like this. 

“Shut up.” Mickey sighed, but he was smiling. “You’re a sap, even....oh fuck yeah....even balls deep in my ass.” 

“It’s a gorgeous ass, too.” Ian laughed, grinding his cock in deep. Mickey’s body shuddered around him, and Ian knew he was close too. He propped himself up on one arm and wrapped his fingers around Mickey’s cock, which had been leaking steadily against his stomach this entire time. The moment he touched it, Mickey’s whole body jerked. 

“Oh!” Mickey grabbed Ian’s hair, pulling him into a heated, messy kiss. “M’gonna come.” 

“Good.” Ian growled, slamming into Mickey. “Love making you come.” 

They were both covered in sweat, skin slick with it. Ian’s red hair looked auburn, clumped together along his forehead as he nuzzled Mickey’s temple. His hand worked between their bodies, dragging Mickey towards orgasm as he chased his own release. 

“C’mon.” Mickey sighed against Ian’s cheek, running his tongue along his ear. “Give it to me.” 

Ian moaned, his hips stuttering as his orgasm crashed over him. He stroked Mickey’s cock as his own body spasmed, until Mickey covered them both in come. 

“Fuck.” Mickey cried, his whole body locking up as liquid heat shot through his veins. Ian milked him dry, finally collapsing on top of him, spent and sated. 

Mickey let him lay there, paying no mind to the mess between them. He just wrapped his arms around him and held him close, keeping his legs locked around his hips. 

Finally, after both their hearts has calmed and they were no longer breathing erratically, Ian let go and pulled out, collapsing next to his boyfriend on the mattress. 

Mickey hummed, turning to quickly peck Ian’s lips before leaning off the edge of the bed and grabbing a dirty Iron Maiden t-shirt and using it to wipe the come and lube off his body before tossing it to his boyfriend. 

“Wipe your dick and come cuddle me.” 

Ian chuckled, but did as he was told. He quickly wiped off his junk before tossing the t-shirt on the floor. He switched off the light and curled around Mickey’s back, pressing a wet kiss behind his ear. 

“What the fuck?!?” Mickey yelped, twitching in Ian’s arms. Ian sat up, alarmed and looked over the side of the bed, expecting a rat or a demon or some other crazy shit. 

“Diesel? How’d you get in here?” Ian wondered, staring at the dog, who was curled up on their fancy suits like he belonged there. “I thought I shut the door.” 

Mickey just giggled, feeling dick drunk and insanely happy. “He just watched us fuck.” 

Ian laughed too, shaking his head as he pulled Mickey’s back against his chest. “Nah. He watched us make love.” 

“Fucking sap.” Mickey laughed, but didn’t protest when Ian cupped his face and turned him around for a slow, tender kiss. 

Mickey kissed him back, desperate to communicate his love and adoration for Ian with his lips and tongue. Ian seemed to understand, kissing him back just as tenderly. 

Eventually they broke apart, cuddling down in the bed and closing their eyes. 

Before Mickey could slip into unconsciousness, however, Ian spoke. “Gonna call my brother tommorrow, see if he knows anyone that would wanna sublet my place.” 

Mickey hummed, kissing Ian’s hand, which was resting just under his chin. “My sister and her roommate are looking for a new place. Dunno if they can afford it, but...” 

“We can ask her.” Ian agreed. 

“We’re really doing it, huh?” Mickey shot back, his voice soft and sleepy. “We’re gonna do it for real this time.” 

“Yeah Mick.” Ian nodded, pressing his lips to the back of Mickey’s head. “I don’t wanna be anywhere but where you are from now on. M’home now.” 

“Home sweet home.” Mickey mumbled nonsensically, drifting off on the thud of Ian’s heart and the sweet scent of his skin. 

“Home sweet home.” Ian hummed back, smiling as he closed his eyes. 

*** 

Ian looked around the room, grinning to himself. Things were really coming together. 

It had only been about two weeks since Mickey asked him to move in with him, but things had been progressing at a blistering pace. 

Ian couldn’t be happier. 

Mandy and Elise, her roommate, had gladly taken his apartment off his hands, signing a year lease. Ian had really thought it would have been a longer process, but Mandy was keen to get into the building, and Ian was even more excited to make his home with Mickey. 

Of course, once the neighbors heard the news, they’d all gone apeshit. Cal had declared himself the welcoming committee and was planning a party for Mandy and Elise at this very moment. 

Ian has a feeling it’ll be more than a ‘welcome to the building’ party, considering how elated Cal had been when he heard Ian was moving in with Mickey. Ian knows Cal pretty well at this point, and the man doesn’t do anything by halves. 

Mickey will not be pleased to be the center of attention, so Ian will have to do his best to keep the guests focused on Mandy and Elise. 

But, besides well-meaning neighbors irritating his boyfriend with their cheery hospitality, Ian’s never been happier than he is now. 

Working from home is a dream. Being his own boss is even better. He can take the clients he wants, work the hours he wants, and spend his days in his home, surrounded by the people and things that make him happiest. 

Not to mention he can listen to Mad Dog Mick all morning while he crunches numbers, and no one from HR is around to tell him how inappropriate it is. 

Ian looks around the office, pleased with how it turned out. Ian had never been in Mickey’s office before he moved in, there was no reason to. But after he moved in, Mickey insisted that they share the space. 

Now, they had two matching desks on opposite sides of the room, facing each other, a big round window off to the left. The closet was full of office supplies and rock and roll memorabilia. The walls had Mickey’s signed concert posters. Alice in Chains, Pink Floyd, Pantera. Dotted in along with the framed art were photographs of Mickey with musicians that had been on the show. Everyone from Staind to Tool to Poison. 

Ian might not be a rock fanboy like Mickey, but he was for sure a Mickey fan, and seeing his history, his passion all over the walls was amazing. 

He’d added some of his own things to his side of the office. Some framed art prints. Dali and Picasso and Warhol. Pictures of his family over the years. And the small handful of photos he and Mickey had taken together so far. 

This house was his home now, and looking around, Ian could truly feel that. 

Mickey was still at work. He had about another hour on air before he could come home. Ian had plans for him today, before the party. 

Big, sexy plans. 

Ian smiled to himself, sitting down at his desk and opening a spreadsheet. He turned up the radio, delighted to catch Mickey and Fitzy mid-rant over some political madness going on in congress right now. 

Ever since Lexi left and Fitzy came on as a host, the show had become a bit more serious. Of course, they still had strippers and pranks and comedy, but ever since Mickey’s stalker, he’d become a different radio host. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind about significant things, like racism, homophobia, sexism or mass incarceration. 

The ratings were through the roof, proving to Tobias and upper management that Mickey’s new on-air personality was a hit. 

Ian couldn’t be prouder. 

Ian smiled to himself, trying to focus on his spreadsheet while Mickey and Fitzy seamlessly moved on from their political talk onto something easier, some Netflix show based on an old horror movie. 

Mickey has been obsessed with this show for months, Fitzy’s not nearly as impressed. Kenny is just laughing in the background, calling them both idiots. 

Ian laughs along as the guys sign off and Aerosmith starts playing. Toys in the Attic. 

Ian sighs, turning back to his typing, only to be interrupted again as Diesel comes barreling into the room to hide behind Ian’s chair, whimpering. 

“Oh, D.” Ian chuckled, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t run. You know she loves to chase you.” just as Ian finished speaking, a black blur sped into the room and pounced on Diesel. The dog yelped, but yielded, laying down on his belly so the kitten could crawl all over him. 

“Tali,” Ian laughed, shaking his head. “Give the poor dog a break.” 

Natalia had been a gift. Two days after Ian moved in, Mickey surprised him with the little black ball of fluff. Blushing furiously, Mickey had explained that he’d stopped by the shelter to talk about another benefit through the station, saw Natalia sitting in a cage. With her big green eyes and her lanky little body, all Mickey could think was ‘I have to bring her home to Ian.’ 

So he did. 

Now they’re a little family. Mickey and Ian, Diesel and Tali. D and Tali fight like, well, like cats and dogs. But looking at them now, Deisel curled up on the floor with Natalia tucked against his belly, Ian is struck by how lucky he is. To have found this, with Mickey. 

Just as Ian’s really getting lost in his bliss-spiral, Mickey’s voice pulls him out of his head. He turns away from his furbabies and back to his spreadsheet, his eyes on the computer and his ears on his boyfriend. 

“Hey guys.” Mickey says from the speaker. “This is Mad Dog Mick at the end of our Monday show. I wanna thank you for tuning in. Please don’t forget to head over to Rainnbow Kids website to sign up to sponsor a kid for summer camp. Every dollar helps get a kid closer to Lake Wantag for the summer, so please do what you can.” 

“And we want to thank Death’s Head Coffee and Marco’s Bakery for breakfast this morning.” Kenny added. Ian chuckled, envisioning Kenny stuffing a danish in his mouth as soon as he was done speaking.” 

Then Ian smiled even harder when Fitzy’s voice came over the airwaves. The novelty of hearing Fitzy on the show hadn’t worn off yet. “And tune in tomorrow, we’ve got a live performance from The Black Death. We’ll be giving away tickets to both their Chicago shows.” 

“Alright guys, that’s all we’ve got for today. We’re going to leave you with one of my favorite tunes. This one’s dedicated to my boyfriend Ian, who’s sitting in our house right now, crunching numbers like a nerd and feeding our dog roast beef. Yeah, Ian, I know you’re feeding D people food.” 

Ian blushed, shaking his head. He was still unused to hearing his boyfriend address him on the air. 

He kinda loved it. 

“So, for you, Ian. We may have taken a long and winding road to get where we are, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

“Sap!” Fitzy giggled in the background. The sound of something heavy falling and a loud groan brought another smile to Ian’s face. 

“So here’s Motley Cru, with Home Sweet Home. Which is where I’m headed now. Thanks for tuning in. This is Mad Dog Mick in the Morning, and we’ll be back tomorrow with more kickass music.” 

Mickey’s voice faded out and the heavy guitar and drums of 80’s metal filled the room. 

Ian smiled, resting his head on his hand as the lyrics flowed over him. In a minute, he’d get up and fix some lunch for him and his boyfriend. But for now, he was going to sit here, listen to his song, and daydream about all the amazing shit he and Mickey had in store for them in their future. 

Take me to your heart  
Feel me in your bones  
Just one more night  
And I'm comin' off this 

Long and winding road  
I'm on my way  
I'm on my way  
Home sweet home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a wild ride. it took me almost a year to finish this one. a crazy, sometimes awful year. but we made it. 
> 
> as usual, i'm not 100% pleased with the ending, but i did the best that i could, and that's all any of us can hope for. 
> 
> it's been fun exploring this universe. i suppose it's on to the next one now.... thanks for sticking with me.

**Author's Note:**

> i named Mick's producer after my best friend Mike, who died in 2008. i promised him when we were just kids that i'd name a character after him if i ever became a famous writer. well, the famous part never happened, but i'm here to keep my promise.
> 
> So here we are. Here's hoping this is worth the wait. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCUpvTMis-Y (listen to this shit. trust me.) 
> 
> PS: Happy New Year! may 2020 be full of amazing AO3 content & even more awesome Gallavich shit. we made it this far, don't give up now <3


End file.
